


We Will Take It All

by Gat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Eventual Smut, Explosions, Feelings, M/M, Mass Mayhem, Murder, Slow Burn, Swearing, Theft, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gat/pseuds/Gat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat had always been alone, surviving any way he can in the irradiated outback. His life is forever changed when a man he still can't believe is that ridiculously huge threatens to kill him. Rating just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> This is my first time writing a serious fanfiction in...oh gods, years. Heaven help me. I want this to be a fairly long thing, so I have higher hopes for myself than I can probably fulfill. 8^y  
> Since a lot of Junkrat and Roadhog's past is not set in canon as far as I am aware, I am taking a lot of liberties here.  
> BUT FUCK IT, HAVE SOME GROSS STUFF. ENJOY. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Today was proving to be the second worst day ever.

It was pretty much only losing to the day Junkrat blew his arm off. It was definitely above when he blew off his leg, however. At least on that day, he had been able to tourniquet himself and get himself moving. His arm had nearly cost him his life. It's hard to secure a bleeding stump when all you have is your teeth and your non-dominant hand available while trying all the while to not succumb to shock.

Bullets sprayed the rusted-out car next to him and ricocheted everywhere, bringing him back to reality. Today was definitely a shitty day.

"Get out here, junk brat!" a woman called to him. "Tell me what I wanna know and I'll let ya live!" There was some laughter from the twenty-some other people around her that told him that her proposal was almost definitely a lie.

"That's JunkRAT, ya dog!" the junker shouted back around the hull of metal. "And I ain't no drongo. Ya gonna off me as soon as I start blabbin'!" He checked his dwindling stockpile of explosives. He hadn't had time to really build it back up after the last group of junkers had attacked him the previous week. The attacks were getting more and more frequent; he wasn't going to last a whole lot longer.

"I'll cut you a deal, junk _brat_ ," the woman spat in his direction. He chanced a quick look around the side of the car and saw that she was sticking a rocket down an RPG launcher. Where the devil did she pull that out of? It was probably what was so far up her ass, Junkrat mused, which elicited a manic giggle. "You come out here, and we'll talk all civilized-like. Then you get to live your pathetic little life as my personal bootlicker. Sound good?" She hefted the launcher to her shoulder.

" _Shit_ ," Junkrat thought to himself. He dug under a tarp for his latest creation. He didn't think it was really ready, but it was all he had that was enough of a diversion to stop her from blowing him to kingdom come. " _Please, dear God. I don't ask ya fer a whole lot, but please let this work_."

"No deal!" Junkrat shouted, and rolled out from behind the car with the device in tow. It was a huge tire with spikes protruding out of it, and a motor and a lot of explosives stuffed into the center. "Eat this, fuckwits!" he shouted as he ripped on the pull-string. The motor roared to life as the whole tire shuddered and then kicked off down the hill, its spikes biting into the earth. Junkrat could have sworn the roar of the motor echoed just a little too much, a little too deep. Was that really the tire? He couldn't be sure.

Regardless of his paranoia, his creation worked to great success. It bounded down the hill like an angry, snarling beast. It made one final bounce and caught one of the junkers full in the chest, where it waited just a heartbeat before it exploded. Ragged chunks of metal-ribbed tire and shrapnel flew everywhere, and Junkrat had to dive back behind his cover as one of the spikes was propelled all the way back to where his head had previously been. He whooped excitedly and grabbed some of his remaining grenades and launched them over the car willy-nilly.

Ultimately, though, it was in vain. It had only been a few minutes when he thought about it, even though it had felt like an hour or more of carnage and explosions. Time always seemed to go strange when there were explosions about for Junkrat. Now, his face was pressed against the unforgiving red rock of the outback, and a studded boot held him there on the other side. His prosthetics had been taken from him. A shotgun was pointed to his temple, and he was being told to talk. A small beetle crawled across the dirt in front of his face.

As _if_. There was no way he was going to tell these dickheads what he had found, or where he had stashed it. The worst they could honestly do was kill him, and if they did so, they were guaranteed to never find it. They weren't really working on a stable platform. He sighed and licked his chapped lips. If only he could go back to a few minutes before, lobbing grenades and mines and pipe bombs their way, watching limbs and intestines fly gracefully through the air like party streamers amid the explosions.

Almost as if in response to his boredom, there was a rasping clatter that shot across the clearing, and the man with the boot to Junkrat's head made a strange gagging noise and was suddenly pulled forty feet to one of the heaping mounds of junk. There was a grinding bang, and the other remaining junkers started shouting and shooting toward the source of the noise. The same noise exploded across the scrapyard, and Junkrat turned his head just in time to see one of the junkers nearly explode backwards in a spray of bolts, nails, and springs. A wicked hook attached to a long chain once again shot out from behind the pile. It snagged another junker, its pointed end embedding itself into his ribcage, and pulled him off his feet and back towards its origin. There was a scream that ended abruptly.

Far too abruptly.

Junkrat feebly started wriggling his way back towards his hidey-hole in the scrap, but there was not a lot between himself and whatever it was that was pulling junkers to their doom. Some kind of metallic chameleon, maybe. The chain hook was its tongue, and it crunched down on them like crickets. He giggled nervously at the mental image, which attracted attention. He was suddenly grabbed and hoisted up, a gun lodged under his jaw. The female leader of this particular junker gang had grabbed him.

"Show yourself!" she shouted. "Show yourself or none of us get the treasure!" There was a pause. A very long pause. The woman inhaled to shout again, but exhaled sharply when the person on the other side of the hook stepped out into the open and started walking towards them with purposeful, ponderous steps.

"Hooley dooley," Junkrat muttered without meaning to. The man was enormous. Not just in height, but in size, too. How did someone maintain a gut like that in the irradiated outback? He had to be probably five hundred pounds, maybe more. He wore a whole damn tire studded with foot-long spikes on one shoulder, and had that huge hook attached to a winch on his opposite hip. He wore a gas mask over his face that was probably two or three masks cobbled together to accomodate his huge face, shaped and molded into a hog-like snout.

Almost just to throw the whole intimidating appearance off, he had a sun-faded tattoo of a cartoon pig face with flaming motorcycle motors emblazoned across the bare, vast track of his stomach. Its adorable black eyes were mocking, as if daring anyone to make comment on it. The blood smeared across various areas of his person made it clear that this mountain of a man was more than willing to crush the skull of anyone who did, and probably had done so numerous times in the past.

"W-w-we can negotiate," the woman who held Junkrat said, trying and failing to keep her composure as the man advanced slowly. Implacably. Junkrat noticed the woman start shaking. He couldn't blame her. This monster had just wiped out the remaining members of her gang in less than fifteen seconds, and the blank, darkened lenses of the mask made him look like he was hungry for more. She was shouting now, but Junkrat couldn't understand her anymore. His mind was focused on the man approaching, and he felt something he hadn't in a long time: true, abject terror.

He had long since stopped being actually afraid of any of the other junkers. Their ideas of torture were vanilla at best, and they honestly weren't anything Junkrat hadn't lived through before. He was used to being the lowest man on the totem pole, and all shit flowed downhill until it deposited itself into his lap. Besides, after having the pain of blown off limbs and gangrene and phantom pains, whatever the other junkers could do to him would be a pleasant diversion.

This guy, on the other hand. The threatening way he carried himself, the way it seemed so easy. He was very obviously used to causing pain, and probably even enjoyed it, relished it. After all, you didn't get that big in the outback without being able to keep the position you earned, and you didn't keep your position without scaring the shit out of the other junkers to keep them away.

The woman was still shouting, pleading, and Junkrat felt the shotgun dig painfully into the sensitive part hidden behind his mandible. His ears had gone fuzzy, and the world seemed to be on low volume. The man stopped about twenty feet away, and was surveying the situation. More shouting. At this point he felt more than heard the shouting, his amber eyes fixed on the blank plastic between his gaze and that of the man, unable to blink. There was a jerk of motion, much faster than Junkrat had thought the big man could move. Faster than the woman holding him thought, as well.

The chatter of the chain cut through the silence in Junkrat's mind, and the woman behind him let out a piercing scream as the wicked hook--much bigger up close!--cut into her side and pulled her towards the menacing mountain of muscle. She lost her grip on Junkrat, who fell to the ground and started scrambling away. He heard a gross cracking sound and a distressed scream; he looked back to see the man slowly, purposefully crushing the woman's pelvis beneath one of his huge boots, hook still in her abdomen and his free hand on her head, holding her still. She screamed once more as the behemoth ripped his hook from her flesh, tearing half of her insides with it. Viscera clung to his hook, caught in three sharp nails that were somehow pierced through the steel of the weapon. He lifted his boot long enough to toss the still breathing but utterly broken woman aside, and turned his unreadable, masked face on Junkrat.

The thin man yelped and redoubled his efforts to flee, but he was going nowhere fast. If he had lost alternate limbs, he could maybe do a weird, floppy gallop; but since he had lost both limbs on his right side, there was no hope of balance. The beast caught up to him quickly, and Junkrat felt himself get roughly flipped over and then lifted up with one hand by the straps on his vest until he was eye level with the blank lenses. Junkrat was by no means a short man, so it was unnerving that there was a good half foot of space between his one remaining foot and the ground. He saw his reflection in the black plastic, all thin and dirty and filled with fear. He felt the still-warm barrel of the giant's scrap gun press into his abdomen. Probably the worst place to be shot for a quick death, especially by a gun that shot shrapnel.

"Talk," the big man ordered, his voice grinding like the very bedrock of the outback was being shifted. It sent an involuntary shudder up Junkrat's spine.

But hooley dooley, he did not need telling twice. He started talking. At least, what he thought was talking. It took a full thirty seconds for his brain to re-engage, and it was at that point that he realized that he had been spouting constant nonsense the whole time. The man was obviously not amused, as he tightened his grip on Junkrat's vest and pushed his gun deeper into the smaller man's stomach with a sinister growl.

"I-I-I'll cut'cha a deal, mate!" Junkrat blurted suddenly, at a loss for any other ideas. "A real deal! One where ya benefit real nice!"

This made the man pause. The gun retracted slightly but didn't remove itself. There were a couple of ticks of silence, then the man started laughing. Junkrat blinked. This big fuckin' menace was _laughing_! And it didn't stop at chuckling, either. It soon ramped up to full-on belly-jiggling laughter that set the iron-grey ponytail at the top of his head wagging to and fro. It was deep and gravelly, broken only by some nasty-sounding coughing. He finally settled down, but didn't say anything. " _What can a brat like you offer me?_ " was the silent response.

"Oi, I'm serious, mate!" Junkrat said, chagrined. "Ya know why people are after me so hard, right?"

A grunt, negative. At least, that's how Junkrat interpreted it.

"I found somethin' right valuable in the ruins of th' omnium," he said, and felt the fist that held him up clench again at the last word. "If ya let me go, I'll split it with ya. Right down the middle, mate. Fifty-fifty."

" _Are you fucking insane_ ," he thought to himself, then forced the thought away. It was a valuable item, and honestly Junkrat didn't know what he'd do with even half of the money anyways. Besides, it was a small price to pay to be unbroken and alive, and greed was not a vice that was healthy in the outback. He also had no trouble applying the descriptor "unbroken" to himself in this specific context because he was pretty damn sure that once this monster was done with him, missing limbs and teeth would be the absolute LAST thing Junkrat would be worrying about. Several seconds stretched longer, and the smaller man could see the cogs ticking in the other junker's mind. The response was taking too long.

"I'll even hire ya! For real!" Junkrat pressed, kicking his one good leg slightly. "Ya can be me bodyguard, an' we'll go an' wreck people up an' take their stuff! Ya still get half, of course! It'll be wicked fun, mate!"

It took a few more seconds, but the big man grunted. Affirmative! The gun was removed from Junkrat's gut, and he let out a trifle of nervous, but relieved, laughter. It was cut short quickly, as the big man yanked the smaller forward. Junkrat shifted uncomfortably as his nose was roughly squashed against the stiff, hardened leather of the snout of the gas mask.

"If you betray me," the man said in a tone that spoke volumes about the terrible things he'd do to the other in such an event, "you'd better make _damn sure_ that I am dead." His voice, now that he had spoken at length, had a garbled, almost mechanical quality from being filtered through the mask. It made it even more cold, more menacing. There was that shiver again.

"N-no worries, mate! No way! Yer me partner from now on, I wouldn't do that to ya! I ain't no double-crosser!" More high-pitched, chattering laughter. It honestly only made Junkrat's brain scream all kinds of warnings, but he trusted the big one to not utterly annhiliate him. He _had_ to. His life now depended on it. " _Oh what have you gotten yourself into?_ " he thought.

The other grunted and set him down carefully on his one leg, and put out his left hand for a handshake. How thoughtful. Junkrat took it with his remaining hand quickly, trying to display that he was all for this arrangement and that he was nothing to worry about. His hand disappeared in the other's giant ham fist. "So, mate. Can ya help me get me prosthetics? I ain't goin' nowhere without 'em."

The big man grunted and started moving about the area. He found the prosthetics quickly enough (they weren't really easy to mistake for anything else, and the bright orange stood out) and set them over by Junkrat before going and looting bodies. There were guns that could be sold, as well as ammunition. That RPG launcher would go for loads all on its own. He pulled some of the better, not blood-stained clothing off of the junkers, as well as their shoes. Shoes always sold well. Junkrat quickly strapped his arm and leg back on and went to assisting. He was shocked momentarily at the state of some of the bodies, and even more so that the female leader was still alive. Barely, but still alive.

"Hey there, sheila," the young man purred, running a hand down her cheek. "Guess you didn't have enough ta offer, eh?" He cackled as her eyes slowly moved over to his own. "Don't worry, love," he said with a wink, palming a small time bomb pulled out of seemingly nowhere. "I'll make sure ya don't suffer too long." He set the timer. Twenty minutes, no, fifteen. Ten? Plenty of time. He set the countdown and stuffed the package into her intestines. He pulled her shoes off and some jewelry she was wearing before scampering off.

It only took a couple of minutes for Junkrat to clear out his small hidey-hole of stuff into a beaten-up duffel bag, set a few more timers, and then approach his new bodyguard with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. The big man looked at him curiously.

"I'm goin' with ya mate," Junkrat said, as though it was obvious. It was, wasn't it? It would be silly if they stayed here. There was nothing around, not really. Besides, the whole scrap heap would be sky-high in about eight minutes. "Every bogan with a gun knows where I'm hidin', can't stay here."

The big man shrugged and took all of his plunder into his arms and started walking towards and around the big scrap pile. The smaller one followed him around and squealed in delight at the big chopper waiting for its rider. Junkrat had never ridden on...well, anything motorized. At least, not that he could remember. He had attempted to put together a scooter, but that attempt had been thoroughly derailed by him making that exploding tire. That was way more fun anyway.

The big man moved around the bike, and started rearranging something. Junkrat moved around to see that he was pulling things out of a sidecar, discarding some of it and setting some of it aside. He then started rearranging the bike's saddlebags, discarding some trash and useless effects and redistributing the useful stuff from the sidecar into them, along with the clothes and boots. the guns went into the sidecar, where he motioned for his new charge to sit.

" _Five minutes_ ," Junkrat thought to himself as he jumped into the sidecar gleefully, throwing his bag of few personal effects and many bomb components towards the nose. The big man got onto the bike, which sank considerably under his weight, and kicked it to life. The bike roared and surged forward with a twist of the giant's wrist, and they were off. The feeling was like nothing Junkrat had ever experienced. He sat up straight in the sidecar, his hands gripping the sides and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He heard a snort from his new big bodyguard, but didn't respond to it. It was amazing, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it while it was a new experience.

After a bit, his mental timer alerted him to what was about to happen. He slapped at the big man's knee and told him to stop real quick and watch. His bodyguard complied, and turned around. A few ticks passed and Junkrat spread his hands and made a small "Boom!" noise just as the explosives that were packed in the woman and all through the scrap pile went off in a glorious display of pyrotechnics. He had even stuffed some old fireworks here and there, and they soared into the midday sky with whistles and shrieks before exploding in (unfortunately) barely-visible starbursts of color. The young man in the sidecar fell backwards onto the floor of it in peal after peal of maniacal laughter, and he was sure he heard the beast chuckle as well. The thin junker finally got a hold of himself and pulled himself back into the seat while wiping away tears.

"Bloody beautiful," he said to himself, and cleared his throat. "Anyway, mate," he said to the big man, "it ain't proper to be goin' into business without knowin' names." He stuck his metal hand out. "Th' name's Junkrat!"

The big man grunted. " _It's a little late to be saying that_ ," was what Junkrat's brain translated it as, but his hand was nonetheless overtaken in a handshake.

"Roadhog," was the response. Junkrat's grin split wider into something more feral and excited, and he settled back down on the worn leather of the sidecar as Roadhog kicked off again. A cloud of dust rose up behind them into the painfully bright and clear Australian sky as they headed towards the horizon.

Today was the _best_ day ever.


	2. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Junkrat has anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of myself for waiting before throwing another chapter up. In the past I'd write fifty 500-word chapters and post up all up rapid-fire. But ultimately, I have as much impulse control as Junkrat.  
> And I'm actually proof-reading, holy shit.  
> Anyways, more stuff. Some bad memories, implied non-con, but it's a passing mention.

Junkrat wasn't sure what he was expecting when he had enlisted the giant Roadhog as his bodyguard, but this sure as shit was NOT it. He sunk lower in the sidecar as more and more people turned to eye him suspiciously. He actually felt embarrassed, as there were quite a few lewd jokes that he was pretty sure being made at his expense, what with the smirks and points. He pointed this out to the big man, which earned him a grunt. " _You're just being paranoid_ ," was his mental translation.

Paranoid or not, Junkertown was not the place the thin man wanted to be. He was far too big a target, a huge topic of conversation. As soon as he returned from the omnium, he was under attack. It didn't matter that he had never actually admitted to getting anything valuable; it was expected, and assumed. Correctly, but that was beside the point. The point was that Junkrat did not want to find himself with a knife in his throat or a bullet in his head. He did not plan on ever returning to the shantytown at all, yet here he was.

"Why are we here?" Junkrat demanded impatiently.

"Gettin' paid," the big man grunted.

Junkrat shifted in his seat. He realized now that he hadn't asked why the big man had been out hunting. It could be that Junkrat was his primary target, and he had just walked right into a trap. Maybe that was why the big man had agreed to be his bodyguard so quickly. It would be an easy turn-in. Like taking candy from a baby. Junkrat chewed his thumb nervously.

Roadhog made several stops. He stopped first by the gun merchant and gathered up their substantial haul. He motioned for Junkrat to follow with a single word, "Ammo," before walking into the building. Junkrat quickly followed after him, not wanting to be left alone with so many people staring at him.  
The interior of the gun shop was cooler than the heat outside, and many metal grates lined the walls. There were all kinds of guns and other firearms behind the grates, and big men with big guns were spaced here and there along the walls. Roadhog stood at a counter near the back, a frazzled-looking man looking over the weapons.

"W-well," the man was saying as Junkrat hobbled into earshot, "they're all in fine shape and that launcher is a nice, rare item. Unfortunately, I and the other gun merchants are at a surplus for weapons and can't offer you the usual rate. N-now if you had ammunition--" He was cut off by Roadhog motioning towards Junkrat, who was actually having a difficult time walking with how much he was weighed down by the stuff. The small man cheered up enormously and waved the other junker over.

He gladly set the bags down on the counter, and the man immediately went to counting and sorting. Several boxes were pulled out from behind the counter, and rounds went into corresponding containers. He was impressively fast at his counting, and got through the bags quickly. Within ten minutes the man was finished, and he reached behind the counter again and started counting something else and wrapping it with rubber bands.

"That's my offer," he piped, throwing down four fat wads of cash. Roadhog opened each one in turn and fanned out the bills before wrapping them back up. He grunted in agreement and pocketed all four wads, then turned and made his way back out to his bike. Junkrat waited until they were seated and moving again to complain.

"I said half an' half, mate," the young man said sourly.

"Patience," Roadhog growled. Junkrat made to retort, but the bike suddenly stopped. Roadhog dismounted and started pulling the clothing out of his saddlebags. He stuffed a pile into his charge's arms and once again motioned for Junkrat to follow.

Sullenly, he obeyed. He thought for a moment that it was unfair that he had hired Roadhog, but it was Roadhog who was getting the better end of this bargain.

The interior of this store was a lot more inviting. Clothes hung on racks, neatly organized into sections. A few armed guards stood around, but not nearly as big as in the weapons store. There for security, not as a threat. Roadhog was once again already at the counter, the clothes and boots strewn across it as a girl probably around Junkrat's age sorted through them. Junkrat plunked his pile of clothes on the countertop, making it clear to his employee that he was displeased with the current situation.

Roadhog ignored him.

Junkrat's brain shorted out. He had never been completely ignored before. He had been alone, yes, but having no one present to pay attention to him and having someone present paying no attention to him were two completely different things. He had always been able to provoke a response from people. It didn't matter that the response was almost universally negative, attention was attention.

And now this big motherfucker with a limited vocabulary and a fucking pig on his fat stomach had the gall to ignore him. Suppressing the urge to climb all over the fat bastard to get some kind of reaction, Junkrat pouted and glared daggers at his fleshy companion, all the while chewing on his tongue. Once again, the person behind the counter threw down some bills, which Roadhog swept up in his big, meaty claws before trudging out the door. Junkrat played with the idea of keeping his heel planted right where it was, but decided that wouldn't get him very far. The other junker had already proved just how easy it was to pick up the smaller one with one hand. Defeated, he went outside and sat in the sidecar.

Roadhog fired his chopper back up and drove down the street, then took a few turns and all of a sudden they were in an even shabbier part of town. A part of town he definitely recognized. A well of memories flooded Junkrat's mind. Almost all of them bad.

"'Ey, Roadhog," he said quietly, trying to hide his nerves. "What're we doin' here?"

A grunt. Not an acceptable answer. Junkrat resisted the urge to scream at the man, and instead opted to whack the sides of his head with the heels of his palms a couple of times.

"'M serious, mate. This place ain't good fer me." He sunk down lower in the sidecar until his knees were jabbed painfully up against the top of the nose. His eyes darted here and there, picking out featureless faces watching from familiar old holes. Junkrat felt naked and exposed without a small pile of grenades available, without any kind of defense. The big junker picked up on the smaller's nerves and sighed loudly.

"Just stay close," he said. Junkrat could have sworn he picked up a touch of irritation in the hollow voice, and his mind set off on wondering how quickly the other one would decide he was too much of a pain in the ass to keep around. That is, if he hadn't already.

The chopper trundled down the dusty street, the ramshackle buildings blocking out much of the sun. Junkrat shivered, suddenly very cold. In his mind, he was shrieking telepathic messages to Roadhog, not to turn here or to turn a different way or to keep going through an intersection. Of course, at every opportunity Roadhog defied the mental commands, and anxiety burned through Junkrat's stomach.

" _Please tell me he's not going to stop_ there _, please no_ ," filled the young man's mind, and he started praying feverishly that Roadhog would keep going, just this once, as they came closer to a large building with two big guards lounging out front.

It was his luck that the motorcycle stopped right where he didn't want it to. Roadhog killed the engine and Junkrat trembled so hard that the vibration traveled through the whole bike. The big man looked at him for a moment before he swung his huge frame off of the vehicle and motioned for the smaller one to follow. He waited this time for his charge to dislodge himself from inside the sidecar and nervously skitter up to his shadow before walking past the two guards (who gave Junkrat contemptuous looks) and through the door.

Memories flashed through Junkrat's mind as he shakily followed the big man's confident strides through the hallway beyond. Beatings, burns, cuts, and worse rose from the depths, and he started laughing out of nerves and stress. Roadhog didn't respond to his fidgeting, which only kept the downwards spiral going. He was forced to scrub and polish the other junkers' things. Forced to do demeaning things just to eat. Used as a mule or purposefully thrown into danger to draw fire. He was little, just captured by the junkers--

He physically stopped. His knees were shaking as he stood there, gripping himself. He felt sick, and Roadhog was fast enough on the uptake to kick over a conveniently-placed trash bin and bend Junkrat over it as he vomited. Nothing really came up as it had been nearly two days since he had eaten anything, but that didn't stop him from retching and spitting up bile. He shook in his bodyguard's hand, suddenly aware that it was the only thing supporting him at all and how it seemed to encompassed his whole fucking body; how it felt like warmest, most comforting thing he'd felt in years.

He shook that particular thought back with a shudder. It was obviously only forming because of his mental state, which was ultimately the big bastard's fault. If he had just listened to Junkrat, put him somewhere safe, he wouldn't be in this situation, he wouldn't have memories from nearly twenty years ago resurfacing. He swallowed in a vain attempt to reduce the stinging in his throat, his mind racing in circles to blame this whole situation on the one thing keeping him standing.

"Uuugh," he muttered, taking a moment to spit into the trash can. When was there ever a trash can around here? It must have been a new addition since he hadn't been around to bully into cleaning the place. "Fuck me..."

There was a snort from behind him and Junkrat felt the hand start to release him and pull away. Junkrat twitched and grabbed Roadhog's wrist quickly.

"Hold on, mate," he wheezed, and cringing slightly as he sounded more desperate than he would have liked. "I ain't got me knees yet. Don't wanna take a bath in me own yak."

Another grunt. The pressure returned, and Junkrat hung there for a few moments before forcing his legs to work under him. Once he was obviously stable, the hand disappeared from his back and he laughed nervously. Snort.

" _The fuck's wrong with you?_ " was the mental translation.

"I grew up here," Junkrat responded with a wry grin as Roadhog started moving again, and ignored that the big man didn't seem interested. Talking made him feel better, so fuck him. "They didn't treat me...well, let's just say the damn dogs got better treatment." Another nervous laugh. "Never thought I'd have ta walk through here again. At least, not without it bein' on fire."

A second snort. Sounded like his big comrade agreed with that idea. They would have to pursue that when there was more leisure. Junkrat wobbled closer to the other, and resisted the urge to try to hold his hand. He felt slightly better now that his mind had been taken off his previous thoughts by Roadhog's huge hand, but they were threatening to creep back up on him as they approached the door in the back of the building. He instead forced himself to focus on the things around him.

The worn wood of the floor beneath him, the big tear in the wallpaper that looked like a fucked-up horse, the straps on Roadhog's back, a mousehole in a baseboard, the flickering lights above. The threadbare feeling of his tattered shorts, the coldness of his prosthetics, the coarseness of his hair, the rough wall. The uneven sound of his footsteps, laughing coming from somewhere else in the building, Roadhog's labored breathing. The musty smell of the building, his own unwashed body. The sour, acidic taste that filled his mouth.

He let out a shuddering sigh and felt much calmer as Roadhog reached out to the doorknob and opened the door.

The room was much the same as Junkrat had remembered it. It was much better kept than the rest of the ramshackle building, with a fine carpet spread across the polished floor and a rich wooden desk sitting atop it. Two guards stood on the back wall, flanking a fancy painting. Busts and plants sat in the corners, and a ceiling fan rotated lazily above, shining a soft yellow light from the fancy glass fixture dangling beneath it. In a high-backed, red leather chair on the other side of the desk in front of the portrait sat a familiar, sharp-faced man who smiled with all the kindness of a ravenous dingo as they entered.

"Ah, Roadhog. I didn't expect ya back so soon," the man said, his too-smooth voice sending shocks of panic through Junkrat's system. "And 'specially not with vermin in tow."

The thin junker twitched and took a half step behind his big companion, who completely ignored both his charge and the comment. Roadhog took a couple steps forward while digging in a pocket, completely ignored the jump of the guards at his advance, and unceremoniously threw a gold locket on the desk. The man put his hand up to stop his guards and opened the locket.

"This is Mary's," he said, a statement more than a question. So that's what the gang leader's name was, not that it mattered anymore. "She doesn't part with it, but what actual proof do you have that she is actually dead?" He had always been a cocky asshole.

Roadhog shrugged. Junkrat didn't know what proof was needed, honestly; the giant had yet to clean off his person or his hook, and bits of the woman's entrails were still stuck to the nails. No wonder the store clerks had been so nervous.

"I can dispatch one of my men to investigate. Where did you leave her?"

"Everywhere," Roadhog replied. Junkrat giggled at the response, and the man's eyes instantly snapped to him.

"Of course," he responded sourly, before taking on a pleasant, almost parental tone. If snakes could be parental, that is. "Junkrat, it's good to see you so well."

"Ah, y-you too, Mulga." Junkrat's voice didn't even sound like his own. It sounded more like someone else was speaking through him. "It's been a few months, eh? Yer lookin' well." Nervous laughter punctuated each sentence. Mulga's jaw clenched at each. He had always hated the young junker's laughs.

"Well, I know this brat's handiwork. I'll take your word for it," Mulga said, pulling a drawer open before narrowing his eyes, "this time. I expect physical proof next time, however." He began pulling bills out of the drawer, counting them out and laying them down on the desk. He then pulled a paper bag out of the back of the drawer, showed several thick rolls of bills, which he then put back in the bag with a shake. It was obviously full of them. "I'll even throw in something extra for bringing my lost lamb back to me."

Junkrat's blood went cold as his stomach lurched, and his eyes snapped to the side of his bodyguard's masked face. The bag wasn't big, but it looked to be substantially more than the big man was being paid to kill that female gang leader. There were several seconds that passed that felt more like eons in the nervous man's mind, his thoughts racing so fast that they just became an indecipherable background buzz. They snapped quiet, however, when Roadhog reached forward and gathered up the bills for killing Mary, and turned to leave without the bag. Junkrat's heart leapt. Maybe the big guy wasn't going to sell him out after all. That would be a first. He wasn't sure how to feel about it, but as with before, he'd sort it out later. He kind of felt like crying at the moment and needed to get that under control.

Mulga didn't seem nearly as impressed. He snapped his fingers and his guards raised their weapons and trained them on Roadhog. "I'm going to have to insist that you give me back what is mine," he hissed. One of the guards made to move around the table, but jumped back when a sharp crack and a low ring echoed through the room. Roadhog had slammed the back side of his hook against the desk. Mulga's face turned an ugly red as he scowled.

"I do not appreciate my employees defying me, fat man," he snarled, throwing his hands down on is desk and rising. Junkrat quickly fished through his pockets looking for something, anything that could be of use. He found a small black canister hidden deep in one. A last resort, hidden for just such an occasion.

"You're not my employer," Roadhog growled back. The two men stared each other down, tension in the room rising. One of the guards shifted uncomfortably behind his gun. Junkrat pulled the canister out of his pocket, took a deep breath, and crushed it in his right hand.

Thick grey smoke billowed out from between the metal fingers and quickly filled the room. He felt himself roughly pushed aside as his bodyguard once again displayed his unnatural agility, body-checking the smaller man to safety and getting out of line of fire as fast as he could. Guns fired, then the distinct roar of the scrap cannon went off twice. Mulga attempted to shout for his guards and then went silent as something solid connected with him. Junkrat couldn't see what was happening due in combination to the smoke and his eyes watering from it, but was sure that Roadhog had punched the guy out.

Taking advantage of the situation, the thin man rolled around the desk and reached for the paper bag that was on it. He started stuffing everything he could from the drawers into it before his oxygen ran out. He was starting to get dizzy when he felt himself grabbed by the back of his vest and hauled out of the room.

Junkrat really wished he could have been on the other side of the door to see it as Roadhog charged out, billowing smoke everywhere like a demon out of Hell. Instead, he was thrown over the big man's shoulder as they charged, trying to simultaneously keep a hold of his bag of loot and his perch. He couldn't help but laugh maniacally. Shouting erupted from the rest of the building, and several unlucky people charged into the hallway only to be overrun. Roadhog built up speed as they approached the last door. The fat man could  _run_.

Junkrat realized what was about to happen almost too late. He scrambled to wrap himself around the big man's arm as he shoulder-checked the door. A ripple ran through Roadhog and into Junkrat, almost dislodging him as the door fully parted from its hinges as they flew out of the building. There was a half a heartbeat where the were suspended in mid-air, and time seemed to stop so Junkrat could see the shocked and confused expressions on the faces of the men outside, smoke billowing out in Roadhog's wake to fill the hallway and spill outside. Then gravity kicked back in.

There was screaming as they hit the street and slid several feet across the dirt. Junkrat coughed as a big hand whacked him; it had been him screaming. Roadhog lifted himself from the ground and turned his gun on the two guards still scrambling to get up and get their weapons ready. Two sharp retorts and they were smeared across the wooden walls of the hideout, and the man was already climbing on top of his chopper and kicking it to life.

Junkrat screeched a final, obscene farewell from his perch, looking for all the world like some ugly, half-molted parrot as they sped out of the slums and towards the more civilized parts of Junkertown. He cackled, climbed over his bodyguard and back into the sidecar, his ill-gotten gains still stuffed under his arm. Roadhog sped through the town for a few minutes before he slowed down to a normal pace and then stopped in front of a seedy pub on the far outskirts. Junkrat opened his bag of goodies.

Most of what he had grabbed had been just plain office supplies, but he had managed to grab the rest of the cash that had been in the drawer Roadhog got paid out of. It was several thousand at first glance, and with whatever ridiculous amount Mulga had been paying for Junkrat's head, it looked like a pretty good haul. More than anything Junkrat had seen personally, that was for sure.

He blinked as he felt something metal pushed against his head. He turned to stare right down the wide barrel of Roadhog's scrap gun, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

"'Ey, mate," Junkrat said cautiously, "what are--?"

Roadhog pulled the trigger and he reflexively cringed. _Click._ He blinked. He looked up to his bodyguard with a bewildered expression. Out of ammo. The big man started chuckling and then laughing as he put his weapon away. Heat flooded the smaller one's cheeks as he realized that he was just made the butt of a joke, but after a second, he had to admit that it was a damn good one. Whatever that joke was.

Regardless, Junkrat joined in on the laughter, and it took the two of them a minute to regain composure. The motorcycle sighed in relief as its rider got off to go get a room for the night. Junkrat rolled the top of his bag up and threw it in his duffel, which he took with him behind his bodyguard.

The room they were given was really too small to accomodate the both of them, but it had a solid door with a good lock on it. As soon as they were inside, Roadhog emptied out the wads of cash in his pockets onto the bed where he sat and started counting them out properly, every once in a while making a noise of displeasure as he found a smaller bill hidden in with the big ones. Junkrat followed suit on the floor, going immediately into the rolled up bills in his bag. He quickly became angry at them, as other than those first few rolls that Mulga had shown off to them, the rest of them were small bills hidden inside cocoons of one or two large ones. Ultimately, his bounty wound up being a good bit shy of five thousand, which pissed him off enormously.

"Oi, I hope ya clobbered that cocksucker good," he growled as he split open yet another fake wad. "Most of this is fivers." He spread the cash out to show it to Roadhog, who grunted.

" _I expected as much_ ," he translated. Junkrat slammed the money down and hung his head, feeling defeated. In a sudden fit of frustration he stuffed all of it back into the bag and shoved it onto the bed.

"Just take all of it this time, mate," he hissed. "Just lookin' at it cheeses me off. Good ta see how much I'm actually worth." He stood and pulled his duffel over to the small table in the corner and started pulling out bits of scrap and explosives. At least making grenades always cooled him off.

A good half hour passed in silence, broken only by Roadhog's wheezing. Now that he was able to properly notice it, it was kind of worrisome. Did the big bastard always pant like that? Maybe it was a recent development? Did he have some kind of condition? Maybe that's why he wore the gas mask.

" _Or_ ," a rational portion of his mind suggested, " _he's just fucking fat_."

Regardless of his health, Roadhog was very obviously able to take care of himself. Taking an opportunity every so often to scrutinize him since the big man's back was turned and distracted with counting and re-counting cash, Junkrat was able to see that he had been through the wringer. Old scars laced his tanned skin, and bullet holes were peppered here and there. A particularly wicked set of scars wrapped up his left arm that looked distinctly like he had been caught up in his own chain hook. It's not like he was born adept at throwing the thing.

The scrutiny was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. Before Junkrat could do anything, Roadhog had already hefted his bulk off of the bed and opened the door. The thin man leaned back in the chair to try to see around the other's girth, and made out a distressed-looking young girl handing something off. She looked relieved when Roadhog turned and shut the door without any conversation.

He set a big steaming bowl next to Junkrat on the table on his way back to the bed. Junkrat eyed it up before diving nearly headfirst into the stew, which was plain-tasting but filling. He didn't get much into his mouth before it was snatched away from him. "Slowly," came a growl from above before it was set back down. Reluctantly, he ate it much more slowly. It had been a long time since Junkrat had eaten anything hot, and it felt like heaven as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach.

Another knock at the door. Once again, the walking mountain opened the door and received something. After this one, the deadbolt was thrown on the door. The last delivery of the night, apparently. When he turned around, Junkrat saw that he was holding two large containers of water. The big man set one down and took the other into the open bathroom and started pulling off his bloodstained weapons and clothing.

While cleaning off the blood and gore-encrusted hook made sense, the idea of cleaning clothes was a foreign one to Junkrat. So, it confused him even more when the big man stoppered up the sink and poured some water into it and began to clean the blood off of himself.

"The fuck're ya doin, mate?" he demanded, a thoroughly confused expression on his face. "Yer just gonna get all grotty again. What's the point?"

"Blood is unsanitary."

"Un-what? Who cares? It makes ya look right menacing. Keep it, I say."

Roadhog ignored him and kept wiping himself down. Junkrat shook his head and went back to making grenades. He had already made eight in the half hour it took for the food to arrive, and he needed a whole lot more. He hated having to be sparing with his explosions, and while having a ton of grenades was a pain to lug around, it allowed him to be indiscriminate. He lost track of time, but managed to put together another ten before the big man finally came out of the bathroom.

He was wearing simple pastel pink boxers and was readjusting the gas mask on his face. Junkrat couldn't help it, he snorted. Instantly, Roadhog's face snapped to him, and his body language dared the smaller man to make a comment.

"Sorry," Junkrat said quickly, throwing his hands up in surrender, "I didn't mean ta, it's just--" He devolved into snickering.

"Just what?" the other snapped. There was murder in his voice.

"It's your color, mate." He was trying and almost completely failing to keep a straight face. There were tears in his eyes.

"I can debone you with my bare hands," the giant threatened.

"Ya won't hear another peep 'bout it from me, mate!" As if to accentuate the point, he pretended to zip his lips. The point was ruined by him grinning openly the whole time, so really he was zipping his teeth. Regardless, it seemed to mollify Roadhog somewhat, who clambered into the bed with a groan. At least, Junkrat thought it was the man. It might have been the bed.

He returned to his grenade work, and soon the behemoth was snoring. Junkrat tuned it out and worked in silence until his eyes started to droop. He had made a good twenty-five more before he decided it was too risky to continue. Besides, that was his last good spring. He'd decorate them tomorrow, he decided, and packed up the remaining scrap and gunpowder. He stretched and looked towards the bed.

There was barely enough room left on the side of the bed for him to lay on if he so wanted. It even looked like it was purposefully left, like the monster was trying to be courteous. It would be nice to sleep in a bed, but the thought of laying right next to Roadhog...

His mind went back to the hand that held him up when he succumbed to his memories earlier. A weird feeling churned the meal he had just eaten, one that made him uncomfortable. No way. Junkrat opted instead to curl up underneath the table quietly. He was fine where he was at, he didn't have to share a bed with anyone. Besides, he was used to the ground. It was still familiar, and despite everything, he needed a little familiarity right now. He had been rescued, he had been fed, he hadn't yet been beaten or worse. It made his very bones feel strange, as though they were expecting a blow that was yet to come that would snap them to pieces.

He'd worry about it tomorrow. He pulled his duffel bag closer to him and pushed and kneaded a comfortable spot to put his head. He'd worry about all of it tomorrow.


	3. Moving on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roadhog is pleasantly surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to go a different route and give the hog man some attention.  
> Surly, too-old-for-this-bullshit Roadhog is my favorite Roadhog.

Roadhog wakes before the sun comes up. He always had, and damn if he always will. Even if he would rather not some days. Like today. He opens his eyes and looks at the shitty little ceiling of the shitty little room he had rented from the shitty little pub on the outskirts of this shitty little town. It was dark, darker than it should be. Oh yeah, he still had his mask on. Idiot. Why? Ah, shit...

He groaned at the sudden realization that the previous day had not, in fact, been a fucked up radiation nightmare. He sat up in the little bed slowly, pausing partway through to make sure the piece of shit wasn't going to break under him at the wretched noise it made. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last. It held strong however, and he looked around the room. The kid he picked up wasn't in the bed (which was fine) but was not immediately discernable elsewhere (which was not fine). He rolled off the bed and started looking for the blond-haired idiot.

It took him a few minutes of shuffling around to find Junkrat (that was his name, right?) curled up underneath the table. How he folded his height to fit underneath it, Roadhog didn't know, but there he was. He was still, gripping the ratty, incredibly dirty duffel bag that held all of his stuff. Was he even breathing? Curses filled Roadhog's mind at the thought; the brat had only just hired him, and it had all the scent of being a good fucking payoff. He even ruined a decent contact with Mulga for the emaciated sack of shit.

Wait, no. Junkrat was breathing. It was light and barely noticeable, but the scrawny ribcage was moving. That was something, at least. Roadhog hauled himself back onto his feet and scratched at an itch under his waistband. May as well kill time until things started moving. He went back into the small, doorless bathroom where his pants were spread out over the floor to dry from the night before. There was a small, filthy mirror hung haphazardly on the wall. Maybe shaving would be a good idea. It had been a couple of weeks and it was starting to feel uncomfortable under his mask.

He dug through a small parcel he had brought into the room with him and pulled out an old straight razor, a small bar of soap, and a worn brush. He'd have to get a replacement for the last, it had been steadily losing bristles for the past several months. He flicked open the razor and tested the edge. This needed sharpening, too. He was overdue for a visit back home, anyway. He cringed momentarily at the thought of bringing Junkrat with him, but it seemed there was little help for it. He poured water into the sink and pulled off his mask.

The actual act of shaving took nearly a half hour because he had to keep going over the same places repeatedly due to the dull blade. He managed to nick himself pretty good on the cheek because of it, but it was nothing of consequence. Worst comes to worse, he winds up with another goddamn scar on his face. Big deal. He wiped his face off with a rag and looked at himself in the scum-frosted mirror.

Fuck, he was getting old. He was nearing fifty, and he looked it. He had gotten a few more wrinkles next to his eyes and mouth, and his hair was turning silver at an alarming rate. Old scars marred his face, mementos from when he was first starting out as a junker. Lessons learned the hard way. Lessons he'd never forget.

He growled at the old man looking back at him and put his mask back on. It was much more comfortable now that whiskers weren't getting caught in and pulled by it, and he felt much more at ease with it on. Breathing was also easier, but he was sure at this point that was psychosomatic. They were inside, and there wasn't radioactive dust being whipped up everywhere to get in his lungs, so he shouldn't be having any difficulty breathing. Yet there was that damn sigh he did every time he put the thing back on. Whatever.

He started pulling his clothes on. Pants, belt, boots, knee pads. Vest, gloves, rings. He played with the idea of putting the rings on his left hand (which spelled out the word LEFT, he thought it was funny) in the opposite order, so that when he punched someone they'd leave an indent of "LEFT" on them. He then dismissed that idea, because the rings themselves weren't inverted. It would look weird. ⅃ƎᖷT. Not intimidating. He put them on in the correct order, but he couldn't pretend that he wasn't disappointed.

He went back into the main room. Junkrat hadn't so much as twitched. Roadhog hadn't exactly been quiet about dressing--there were always a lot of grunts and curses as he forced his way into his pants and boots. He found it hard to believe that the kid always slept so soundly. Sound sleepers never lasted in the outback, where he had apparently been living for quite a number of months. Maybe he was just exhausted. The big man looked at the small pile of motley grenades on the table. The kid had been busy well after Roadhog had retired.

A small knock at the door, and he jumped more than he wanted to. Who the fuck would be calling at this time of morning? He grabbed his hook and took a couple of tentative steps forward.

"Uh--pardon me? Are you awake in there?" a timid voice said, barely audible through the door. A girl. The pub owner's daughter. Roadhog didn't relax as he went up to the door and started unlocking it. She could be getting coerced into coming to the door. If that was the case, he may as well spring the trap. If she wasn't, then it wasn't of consequence. Win-win.

He opened the door slowly, making sure to keep his weight behind it just in case it wound up getting kicked in. Nothing happened, however, except for the girl smiling the goddamn rising sun.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked, and sighed in relief when Roadhog shook his head. "I'll be starting the kitchen up in a few minutes, did you want any breakfast?"

Sweet girl. She didn't belong in the outback, she was far too kind for it. That kindness was going to get her killed. Still, he nodded in agreement. She beamed and practically skipped down the hallway. He shook his head and shut the door. Domestic types were happy to take care of anyone, he mused as he threw the deadbolt again. He turned, expecting the loud click to have woken Junkrat, but was disappointed that it didn't. Not necessarily because he wanted the kid awake, as the blond talked way too much for his liking; it was more because he was sleeping far too soundly. He hoped this wouldn't be a regular thing.

Speaking of domesticity, his gun could use some cleaning. The thing was bulky and unwieldy, but it matched him perfectly. He had taken it off another much more resourceful junker quite a few years ago after sustaining considerable damage from it. He liked the weapon, how much pain it caused, how dubiously lethal it was. If he hit someone in the wrong place or with the wrong scrap, he would leave them drowning in their own blood. It was always a treat when that happened.

Despite the inherent unreliability of the gun, it was damn useful. Ammunition was always at a premium, so why use it at all? Apparently that other junker had thought the same. In a strange kind of sense, Roadhog liked the guy he pulled the weapon off of. If they hadn't wound up on opposite sides of the same job, he would have gladly sat down with the guy for a few drinks, maybe commission some neat shit.

He picked sand out of the crevices and polished out the dust. Shit, how many years ago was that? Seven? Eight? Time had long since stopped having any real meaning, and the days and years blended together in certain points. Life had long since stopped having any real meaning other than get rich and fuck people up, and Roadhog planned on doing as much of both as he could before he ultimately died in some God-forsaken corner of the outback.

Time ticked by, and the knock at the door came back. He answered it in a similar fashion as before (can't be too careful) and was greeted by the girl holding a tray. Two plates of food, one considerably bigger than the other, and two cups of tea with some sugar and a small thing of milk. If he was twenty years younger, Roadhog might have seriously thought about trying to weasel her away with him. Now though, the kindness was more of a nuisance than anything else. He would never be coming back to this place again.

He took the tray from her with a curt "Thanks," and shut the door. He flicked the lock once more before investigating the food. It was indiscernible, as was most food in Junkertown, but it looked to be edible and actually smelled pretty damn good. It was a hash of some sort, and looked to be filling. The girl was spoiling him, he concluded as he set the tray on the table. He couldn't say that it was a new occurrence, as people had been trying to get his attention a lot over the years. Mostly it was the thrill that he stood for, the danger, the imminent death. Those people could smell the blood on him, and didn't even care if he wound up killing them. It was all part of the draw.

Then there were the others, the ones that had no business trying to pursue him, the ones that had been conditioned to go after the biggest and baddest in some futile attempt at security. Once again, if he was twenty years younger...

Then again, Roadhog didn't exist twenty years ago.

He sighed irritably at the whole situation and picked up the smaller plate. Maybe Junkrat would react to smell more than sound. He set the plate under the table, swearing under his breath and the act of crouching down. As he hoped, the kid's nose started twitching before his eyes snapped open and focused on the plate of food. There was a solid two second delay before he sat up, grabbed the plate, and started shoveling food into his mouth with his metal hand. Gross.

Roadhog stood back up, ignored the popping in his knees (Jesus fuck he was getting old) and busied himself with the tea. It had been a while since he had gotten any, and he was going to enjoy it. He put some sugar in it, thought about it for a second, and put some more in. He liked it sweet.

"How do you like your tea?" he asked Junkrat, not really thinking about it as he stirred his and added some milk.

"My what?"

Roadhog paused. He bent over to look at his charge, who was looking at him with a confused expression.

"Your tea," he repeated. "You know. Tea."

"No, mate. I don't know. What is it?"

It boggled his mind that there was someone in the world who didn't know what tea was, and as a result he was having trouble figuring out how to explain it. He had to remind himself that Junkrat was probably still in diapers when the omnium blew up, so it shouldn't be that big of a surprise. Plus, it seemed like the kid was lucky if he got anything edible most of the time from what he had said. He sighed and added some sugar and milk to the other tea, then handed it down under the table. He picked up the tray with his food and sat down on the bed.

He looked over at Junkrat briefly, who had the teacup in both hands and was sipping it experimentally every so often, the expression on his face making it clear that he was very much debating on whether or not he liked the stuff. Roadhog pulled his mask up partway and began to eat.

"Whoa, mate," the kid said suddenly, his voice shocked. "I didn't know you was human under that thing!"

"Don't be stupid," Roadhog responded, steadily eating his way through his plate. He couldn't see the kid with is mask up like this, but he was sure that Junkrat had that stupid expression on his dirt-smeared face. There was a manic, high-pitched giggle.

"Y'know, this stuff ain't half bad," Junkrat said, and Roadhog assumed he was referring to the tea. "I could get used ta drinkin' this kinda stuff. Where do we get some more?"

Roadhog sighed and continued eating. He had no intention of indulging something so ridiculous. Despite his lack of a response, the kid kept talking. He was much more animated than the previous day, and there were serious considerations as to whether or not the ultimate payoff would be worth it if things continued like this. He wasn't even paying attention to what was being said, just that there was a constant, high-pitched chatter going on in the background. He took a swig of his tea. It was sweet and hot and completely ruined by an ill-timed shriek of laughter.

"Shut up," Roadhog snapped, his lips pulled back into a snarl. Junkrat jumped a little at the sudden harsh order, but did quiet down. Finally. It was way too damn early to listen to that kind of shit. Like a damn insistent magpie. Or just birds in general. That was one thing he didn't miss, being woken up by the squawking of birds in the morning. The wasteland was good for something, at least.

Breakfast was finished in silence. He was sure that there was an awkward element to it somewhere, but he purposefully ignored it. He finished eating well after Junkrat did, and lingered over his cup of tea just to spite him. He could hear the kid twitching nervously under the table that he still hadn't come out from under. Maybe it made him feel better or something, being in a confined space. Something about rats and burrows. He finished his tea and pulled his mask back down over his face and looked over to where the kid was sitting.

He was watching him right back, his amber eyes almost glowing in the dark under the table. It was kind of unnerving, left a weird feeling inching up the back of the old man's neck. This kid was creepy.

"What now?" Roadhog asked.

"Huh?" Junkrat looked honestly confused. Roadhog's eyebrows knit together in irritation under his mask.

"You hired me," he pointed out.

"Oh. Oh! I did, didn't I?" A shrill giggle. "I only did that so ya wouldn't kill me, but since I got ya..." He started digging through his duffel bag and crawled out from under the table.

Roadhog snorted. " _No shit that's why you did it,_ " he thought sourly. Junkrat giggled again, once again making the big man feel like he could read his mind. It was an unpleasant feeling, having his vocalizations responded to in such a way. Everything about the nasty little thing made Roadhog uncomfortable, and that was a fucking feat in and of itself. Usually it was Roadhog making other people uncomfortable, but the brat seemed just fine in his presence. It was weird.

"I got a list here," Junkrat said as he climbed onto the bed next to him. He pulled out a tattered map of the area from some years ago. It was held together in places by yellowing tape, and there were a few scorch marks here and there. Across the map were doodles and marks, as well as words. At least, what Roadhog thought were supposed to be words. They were all phonetically spelled, which resulted in most of them being completely misspelled. He was able to figure out what most of them were, and noticed they were all gangs in the area, as well as several rumored stashes and strongholds.

"These are all the fuckheads that I want to take out," he explained, and pointed to a couple that had fucked up smileys next to them. "Especially these ones, they fucked with me personally."

"These are all the gangs in the outback," Roadhog pointed out.

"Yeah, I know!" Junkrat said excitedly. "I figured out where a lotta them hide out. We can take 'em all out one after another. Chain reaction." He spread his hand out over the map, illustrating an explosive effect.

"So you want to exterminate the vermin in the outback?"

"Eh, I don't really care 'bout makin' the world a better place or whatever. I ain't no hero. I'm just sick of these dills thinkin' they're such tough shit." He grinned at Roadhog, a grin that promised death and destruction. He would never admit it, but that grin excited him. "I think you're tougher shit than they are, mate. They won't know what hit 'em." At least the kid was honest.

"They'll just be replaced," the big man pointed out. They were always replaced.

"That don't matter," Junkrat said with a shrug. "Like I said, I just wanna wipe the smirks offa th' faces of these ugly fuckers." He tapped the map with the back of his hand to accentuate his point.

"And after?" They couldn't keep going around killing gangs. There was actually quite little money to be gained by going after them without bounties available to cash in on. Besides, there was the matter of splitting whatever it was that the kid found in the omnium.

Whatever Roadhog had expected Junkrat to do or say next, it definitely wasn't grin like a rabid hyena and pull a folded-up classroom map of the world out of that duffel bag and spread it across the floor. He stood proudly over the map, his hands on his hips and that manic grin still plastered over his face. There were certain countries and cities circled on the map with rough depictions of their famous treasures drawn next to them. Again, lots of phonetically-spelled "words." There was a clear route drawn between each.

"We take it all, mate!" the kid practically crowed. "The whole fuckin' world. We take it from the suits an' the 'bots and all them dickheads who don't know how good they got it." He laughed his manic cackle, and for once it wasn't making Roadhog want to stuff his whole fist down the guy's throat to make it stop. It was genuine, pure.

Pure madness.

Roadhog liked that. The idea of tearing things away from people who didn't destroy their own home just to get their land back. People who never worried about where they were going to get clean water from. People who didn't have to scrounge bugs together to get through the dry season. People who didn't have to abandon their humanity to survive. He found that he was grinning under his mask. He's pretty sure that Junkrat picked up on that too, because the guy started practically vibrating with excitement. Damn that brat was good at picking up on body language.

"What first?"

"Well, I've always wanted ta feed Mulga a grenade or two," Junkrat said with an offhand shrug.

"What do you need?"

A vicious grin spread over Junkrat's thin features.

"You got my half?"

Ten hours later, Junkrat sat in Mulga's high-backed red leather chair, his legs crossed up on the rich wooden desk and passing a remote detonator between his hands with all the nonchalance of a true psychopath. Roadhog stood behind a stripped-down Mulga, the blood and entrails of the man's new guards strewn everywhere in the room. The gang leader was attempting to plead with Junkrat, offering anything he wanted, any amount of money, just please let him go. A lot of his incessant whining was marred by his broken jaw and missing teeth. It was honestly just irritating Roadhog to no end, and it was all he could do to keep himself from grinding the man into ground beef.

Junkrat continued toying with the detonator. It honestly made Roadhog a little nervous, since they had gone through the whole building and rigged explosives in every single room in the place, and the big man did not feel like dying today. He grudgingly trusted the manic little idiot to not accidentally press the button since he had such big plans with the rest of the world, but he did say that it was his first time making a remote tied to something on this scale.

"What do ya want, Junkrat?" Mulga said finally, in tears.

"What do I want?" the thin man repeated. It was the first time he had actually spoken to his former abuser, and the first words he had said in a good fifteen minutes. "What I want is for ya to live through what ya put me through, mate. But, barrin' eighteen years of leisure time ta torture ya, I'll have to live with knowin' yer insides will be splattered across yer fancy ceiling."

Junkrat stood up and pulled out a mine he had built from a bag. "Ya know, I forgot how easy it was to get stuff in town," he mused as he set the mine on the ground in front of Mulga. "I started out today with just forty-three grenades. An' before th' arvo's out I have enough bombs to string up this whole stinkin' shithole and a special gift just for you. Hell, I even got toys left over!" He devolved into a giggling fit.

Roadhog lifted the tied Mulga and set him on top of the mine, making sure the man could see the snake wrapped around an acacia tree painted on the top of it with X's drawn through the eyes.

"Even put'cha name on it!" Junkrat said excitedly. "Except, I don't know how it's spelled, so I went with th' next best thing. But then I wasn't sure if ya meant the tree or the snake. Oh well, gets the point across, eh?"

Mulga whimpered. Junkrat's usual grin became an infuriated snarl.

"Ain't so up yerself now, are ya?" He kicked the man's broken jaw hard with his prosthetic leg, and Mulga's eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he pitched forward. He made an irritated noise. "Roadhog, wake 'im back up would ya?"

The big man obeyed wordlessly. This was a side he hadn't expected the think kid to have, and it was honestly a pleasant surprise. Maybe he could have fun on this ridiculous roadtrip after all. Especially since Junkrat had exuberantly cheered on all of the people he had gutted and broken leading up to this point, and he honestly wondered which of the two of them was enjoying it more. He slapped Mulga a few times until the man's eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused and glossy from the pain.

"Not a lot left in him," the big man said. If Junkrat wanted this guy to die alive, they would have to wrap this up. The point was understood, and the kid picked up a bag filled with cash and jewelry they had taken from the safe they forced Mulga to open earlier before he strode out of the room and then out of the building. Roadhog grabbed a nearby bag filled with weapons and ammunition they had confiscated and turned to follow. He ignored the whimper that rose up behind him as he shut the door on his way out.

"'Ey, Roadhog," Junkrat said absently while they threw their loot into the chopper's sidecar outside the building. "We oughta sell this stuff before we blow this place, yeah? I mean, once it goes, ev'ryone's gonna be goin' all troppo. May as well have our cake and eat it."

Roadhog huffed his agreement. At least the guy had a good head on his shoulders. It only took them about forty minutes to sell off the weapons and ammunition, and it all went into the bag of money hidden up in the nose of the sidecar. They bought some provisions for the trek across the outback, and started leaving town. They paused and turned around.

"Ready?" Junkrat asked, his manic grin plastered back on his face. Roadhog nodded. The kid howled like a madman and pressed the detonator.

A brief delay, and then a sharp retort echoed into the sky and rolled like thunder as the building and everything immediately surrounding it in the middle of the town evaporated. Wood and metal skyrocketed, flipping and dancing on the edge of the shockwave that rippled the sky and shattered windows in its wake. An impressive column of fire punched skywards like a sooty fist thrusting upwards in blazing victory. Faint screams rose up from surrounding buildings and made their way to the two junkers, adding a counter-melody to Junkrat's fevered screeching and cheering. Roadhog couldn't help it, he started laughing. It was damn impressive.

Junkrat had stopped cheering when he started chuckling, and there was a pause before the kid joined. Roadhog kicked the engine back on and they sped off into the outback, laughing over the death and destruction left behind them.

The little rat definitely knew how to have a good time.


	4. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys chill together before their first target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy. Been a while, eh?  
> So my laptop finally kicked the bucket after seven years, so I'm writing this on my phone. Please forgive any weird errors and wrong words; my autocorrect is fantastically stupid.  
> Some calm bullshit here mostly from Roadhog. There isn't much substance but I like character. Lots of explosions and death next chapter, I promise!
> 
> Oh I guess if you're interested I have a tumblr: junkships.tumblr.com

The motorcycle stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere next to a dead tree, but Junkrat didn't care. The sidecar had been getting increasingly uncomfortable as time wore on, and his rear end was fantastically sore. He vaulted out of the vehicle and dashed around a bit, forcing blood back down his legs. Leg. Whatever.

Roadhog watched him impassively for a time before he spoke.

"Where first?"

Always the orator.

Regardless, the thin man grinned wildly and practically dove into the sidecar to dig through his bag for the map. His bodyguard snorted at his legs flailing over the edge to try to keep balance. Junkrat snickered half in response and half in triumph as he pulled the map out. He wiggled back into the sidecar and spread the map out over the top of it.

"We're what, here?" he said and jabbed his finger to the north of the crudely drawn Junkertown on the map. Roadhog pointed to the south. "Roight. Well. Directions ain't always been me strong suit. Anyway, if we're here, then the closest hit would be this one." He drew a straight line from where Roadhog had pointed southwest to an X. "A big ol' bloke named Sharkface operates from there. He raids supply shipments every so often and keeps food an' stuff from gettin' in to Junkertown."

The reasoning didn't really matter he realized about halfway through his explanation, but it made him feel better. More focused. The why he wanted to take out Sharkface was just as important as taking him out. He was no better than the businessmen in their fancy suits sitting in their shining buildings deciding not to send resources to the suffering people in the outback. He took from the people of Junkertown before they even got a chance to know what they had, and he had seen one of the very few people he had considered a friend die because Sharkface had captured a medical supply convoy at the wrong time.

Roadhog studied the map for a few moments before nodding. He got up off his chopper and stretched before he started walking towards the tree.

"Oi, where you goin'?"

"Takin' a piss."

"Oh. That's a good idea."

"Go find your own tree."

"What other fuckin' trees?!"

They continued driving well into the night after that, Junkrat nursing a sore jaw after a small altercation with Roadhog over peeing territory. It wasn't even a hard punch. He was sullen and irritable the rest of the ride, with his arms wrapped around his legs and muttering to himself. The posture became less petulant and more necessary as the sun went down and the nightly cold wind whipped across the outback. Junkrat didn't have any fat on him to hope to insulate from the chill, and he found himself shivering in the wind that was amplified by the speed of the motorcycle. His bodyguard looked entirely unaffected. 

" _Of course he is_ ," he thought bitterly. " _He is his own fucking climate_ ."

They drove until they reached one of the few remaining roads left in the outback. It was not well taken care of, but it was paved. Roadhog turned onto it and continued driving. The change of texture made the ride much smoother, which Junkrat's rear end was grateful for. The sidecar had a cushioned seat, but little in the way of suspension.

He lounged back and suppressed a shiver as his tired mind started getting fanciful. The road seemed to stretch into the horizon and even off of it, and he entertained notions of driving right off of the planet and into the star-filled void beyond. The two of them were cruising past a swirling mass of seemingly infinite stars roaring silently in a complex ballet of astronomical proportions when he was shaken awake. He had fallen asleep and was dreaming. 

Mad at himself more than anything, Junkrat looked around irritably. Roadhog had found a long-abandoned petrol station along the side of the road and had killed the engine behind the building. The big man motioned for him to follow and grabbed some blankets and food from his saddlebags before walking around to the entrance. Junkrat followed somewhat unwillingly; the seat was warm from his own body heat but the air was far too cold to be comfortable for very long. He clambered out, grabbed his bag and shakily followed his bodyguard around, still groggy and made unsteady by his uncontrolled shivering in the cold.

The windows were long since destroyed by the elements, so the bare and collapsing shelves were dusted by sand and grit and small piles of dirt had collected in corners. A former inhabitant of the store had left a now-decaying mattress in the walk-in freezer that had been somewhat fortified with sheets of metal and wood along the shelving side, where Roadhog motioned him into. Junkrat didn't like the idea of being in such a small space with the big man, but didn't see much other choice. He did, however, allow his eyes dart between the dark space and eyeing up the big man apprehensively to make it clear that he was unhappy with the situation.

Again, Roadhog ignored him and simply waited until he was in the freezer to close the door. It was pitch black for a moment before an electric lamp was switched on and set on a hook set into the wall. It illuminated some old blood stains splashed across the walls. Wonderful. 

Roadhog dug through the pack of food and handed Junkrat some canned meat and a semi-stale roll of bread. Junkrat eagerly popped the can open and was about to start digging in when something was forced into his hand. A spoon. He looked at it quizzically.

"If I'm going to be stuck with you, at least learn some manners," Roadhog growled as he opened his own can of meat. "Watching you eat with your hands is nauseating."

That struck a nerve. Junkrat hated being told what to do, and he felt his tiredness fall away as it was replaced by rage.

"I ain't had ta use this kinda hoity-toity bullshit me whole life," he snarled and pointed the spoon at his big companion. "An' I ain't 'boutta start now!" He emphasized his point by tossing the offending bit of metal over his shoulder and stuffed his fingers into the can. He defiantly pulled out a chunk of meat and stuffed it in his mouth.

There were two solid seconds in which Roadhog sat silently before he set down his can and snatched Junkrat's out of his hand.

"Pick it up," the big man ordered.

"Oi! Gimme back my food!" Junkrat attempted to grab the can out of the man's enormous hand, but it was quickly lifted out of his reach.

"Not unless you use a spoon."

"Whaddya gonna do, starve me? What difference does it make how it gets there, it's going in my face one way or another!" He stood up to try to grab at the can.

"I'd prefer another," the other snorted, and stood up to match and then exceed the smaller's reach.

"Who cares what you prefer, I'm the one payin' ya! You work for me, mate, an' I say that I--"

His words were cut off suddenly as a giant hand fastened itself around his neck and lifted him up. He was once again lifted to eye level with that emotionless mask, and the voice that issued out from behind it carried a very real threat.

"Eat. With. A. Spoon. Or I'll disembowel you with it."

Junkrat wasn't put down until he started readily agreeing to the demand as spots blossomed in front of his eyes from lack of oxygen. He didn't plan on dying over something as stupid as utensils. That would be fun to explain to Saint Peter. 

Roadhog plopped down heavily after the issue had been settled and pulled his mask up enough to eat and set to it. Junkrat searched around for the discarded spoon before taking his seat on the old mattress with his food. The silverware befuddled him for a few moments before he followed the example of his bodyguard's technique. He swallowed his admission of the convenience of the thing with his first bite. It was less messy, and he didn't get dirt all in his teeth. He also didn't have to worry about cutting his fingers on sharp can edges, and the spoon definitely got more out much easier. He wouldn't admit how useful it was, though. He never would. Probably. 

He instead turned his attention once again to his bodyguard. For being so large, Roadhog ate slowly. It was measured and calm, not at all like Junkrat piling as much as he could into his mouth at a time. The pace of a man who never had to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Now that he was able to more closely study what features he could see, he noticed some defining features. 

Roadhog's face was broad and heavy set, not just because of his fat. Even though it didn't really help matters. There was a clear tan line around where the mask normally sat, which he found hilarious. The greying whiskers that had been shaved only a couple of days ago had already returned with a vengeance; Junkrat suspected that Roadhog was one of those men who were in a constant state of scruff. He had thick lips and a broad nose with a thick ring through the septum . Junkrat found that odd. Why have a facial piercing if you're never going to let anyone see it? What was most defining was the big man's teeth. He had a serious underbite and some spectacular dental fuckery that worked together to drive the man's oversized lower cuspids up and over his upper lip. It made him look like he had boar tusks, which was appropriate considering his name. Junkrat wondered briefly if it was uncomfortable, but the big man didn't seem to have any problems eating.

Junkrat was just getting around to noticing a couple of nice scars on the other's face when the mask was pulled back down.  He jumped slightly and returned to nibbling on the hard crust of his bread, trying to make it look like he wasn't just boring a hole through Roadhog's face. If the other had noticed, he didn't show any signs of it as he dug around for a small bottle of water. Up went the mask again and he drained half of it in one gulp. Junkrat suddenly realized how thirsty he was.

Roadhog seemed to be telepathic as the mask was settled back down and the bottle was presented. Junkrat didn't think twice, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the rest of it down. It was cooled by the night and felt like heaven going down his parched throat. He couldn't help but laugh at the feeling. Roadhog stared at him for a moment (at least, it seemed like it) before he tossed the blanket over with a snort.

"Go to bed."

Junkrat opened his mouth to argue, but found that he didn't really have an argument. Now that he had calmed down and had food in his stomach, the fatigue from before was quickly creeping back up him. It even hurt to keep his eyes open. He grumbled and rolled himself up in the blanket and on the mattress and let himself fall asleep. 

He had dreams of falling into whirlpools of shining fire, illuminated to painful incandescence against a pitch black ocean.

ooooOoooo

Roadhog settled back against the cool metal that sequestered the walk-in with the rest of the world. It was kind of nice, being separated from everything. It was a feeling that was hard to find in the wide open country inside Oz, as everything seemed to expand forever. Between the neverending red rock and the bottomless blue sky, it was easy to feel small and insignificant. 

Even for a man as big as he is. 

He sighed heavily and scratched under one of his harness straps. He was tired from driving all night. He was sure Junkrat hadn't noticed when he finally stopped that the sky had been starting to lighten up with the telltale signs of dawn. The kid had fallen pretty deeply asleep since he hadn't noticed the engine of the motorcycle cut out, or Roadhog saying his name. As much as he wanted to make the blond rodent keep first watch, he didn't trust the guy to not fall asleep. He at least knew himself, and knew that he could stay awake as long as he needed to. He'd let Junkrat get a few hours of sleep before he let himself crash. 

The brat hadn't killed him the first night, there was no reason to believe that it would happen tonight. 

No reason, unless he took being told to eat like an actual human being personally.

Roadhog kind of wished that he had taken the mask totally off to be able to watch Junkrat struggle through figuring out the spoon--he was sure it was hilarious. However, the thin man had polished off his meal quickly, so he obviously hadn't had all that much issue. Not worth showing his face about. 

His thoughts wandered lazily around as he kept his ears perked for any out of the ordinary noise. He was grateful for the lack of excitement, as fighting while tired was his least favorite pass time. 

He was once again taken aback by Junkrat sleeping. The man never stopped moving when he was awake, always twitching or tapping his fingers or rubbing his arms. He suspected it was partly to do with the radioactive nature of the outback. What few people he knew that survived the consequences of blowing up the omnium had devolved into a similar state. Hell, he was little better off before he discovered the nice yellow canisters that the relief efforts kept stashed away. He wasn't sure what chemicals were in the gas, and at this point he didn't really care. They kept him sane, and his hair had even grown back. 

Although he didn't remember being quite so hairy. 

Junkrat was still when he slept, looking like he had just died right then and there. There was a tenseness to his body that made it look like he was under the effects of rigor mortis, with his remaining hand gripping his opposite shoulder so hard the knuckles were white. He was curled up impossibly small, and Roadhog was sure that the thin man had perpetual back pain. You didn't maintain a position like that for hours without some kind of repercussion. 

Maybe it was actually comfortable, Roadhog mused as he absently ran a hand over his stomach. He wouldn't know personally. He had always been big, and as a result flexibility had never been a strong point of his. He was more flexible now than he was before he was a junker, but that was more out of necessity than anything else. Serious injuries happened if your body wasn't able to take a hit right. He could almost touch his toes, which was a serious feat in and of itself. It wasn't easy to reach around his gut.

He sighed. In a few hours he'd wake Junkrat up to take a shift while he slept, then after outside had cooled off they would assault Sharkface's stronghold. He knew the guy, and he was confident that it wouldn't be too difficult. Sure, the bastard had all of the new tech as it came into junket territory, but he didnt know what most of it did and was slovenly to boot. Roadhog was not exactly the pinnacle of physical perfection, but it was entirely due to genetics. Sharkface was just a fat glutton. His people were almost overfed as well, since they had to eat a lot of the food that they captured before it went bad. 

It honestly made Roadhog feel better about himself. Not that he cared all that much anymore, but once upon a time he had been derided near constantly for his size. As much as he didn't want to admit it, a piece of it still stuck with him, but he paid it no mind anymore. It would chatter in the background every time he jiggled at a bump in the road or he had a little more difficulty catching his breath, but it was a worry for a better existence. Besides, he literally could not get rid of the weight. He had tried every diet and exercise under the sun. He was stuck with it.

It wasn't all bad, though. He struck an intimidating figure, and he definitely liked that. It gave him unique advantages when dealing with other Junkers. It's hard to push someone out of your way when they're three times your size.

He sighed again. This was the worst part about taking on something big. The introspection. He had to stop himself now or else he'd never pull himself out of this spiral. He dug in a back pocket and pulled out a book. It wasn't particularly good, but then again very few of them were. This particular one was one of those bullshit pornographies disguised as sappy romances. Small but busty maiden of virtue is forced to share her existence with a grizzled rogue with little regard for human decency, until the fates conspire to blah blah blah. The usual shit. The plot was bad and the characters were worse. Even the smut was so unrealistic that was laughable.

But, he figured, it was better than nothing. He would read about a 5'3" virgin taking a thick, 12" dick on the first try with no problems. He knew for a fact that things did not work like that. Knew from experience, hell. It was hilarious at times, because not only did things not work like that, he was pretty confident that the human body did not contort in ways that were suggested in the book. How did you make out with someone who was slamming into you from behind? How did she not have something rupture yet? And how on God's supposedly green earth did people fuck in an airplane bathroom?

He was glad for his mask at times because he could read this drivel in public without people questioning his distressed expressions of confusion. It wasn't uncommon for this particular novel to cause him to reread passages over and over to try to get some kind of understanding of what the hell was even happening. He even had to restart a couple of chapters because things got muddled halfway through by impromptu screwing. He would have to commit this author to memory so that he never picked up this kind of shit again. 

Time passed much quicker while he was reading, and he could feel the freezer start to heat up as the day progressed. It would get warm, but nowhere near as hot as it was outside. He knew this from experience as he had used this little room to hide out many times. Almost no one knew about it except for him. Mostly because he had killed anyone he found in the area. It was safe enough for him to sleep in undisturbed when he really needed it without driving for days to get back home. He would have fallen asleep and not felt worried, but since the option was available he would err on the side of caution.

He got through a good chunk of the book before he decided that Junkrat had gotten enough sleep. He shut the book with a snap and was pleased to see the kid jump awake. His amber eyes darted around the room for a moment making sure that he wasn't in any immediate danger before he relaxed.

"My turn?" he asked as he stretched his arms high up into the air. Roadhog nodded. They switched places, and the big man groaned as he was finally able to lay down. Junkrat pulled the lantern off of the hook and settled in a corner as he opened his bag and set to work making more explosives. Roadhog set his mental timer for six hours and let himself drift off to sleep.


	5. Sharkface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The junker boys party rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised death and explosions, and I shall deliver death and explosions. I am a kind master. 
> 
> This thing was eleven pages in Hancom Word. How is it I can write this kind of shit no problem but good golly NaNo is fukken impossible for me. The mystery of the decade.

The mood changed as soon as Roadhog woke up. The reality of what was about to happen sunk into Junkrat's brain as the big man stretched on the mattress, and it excited him more than he wanted to admit. He had to tense up his left leg to keep it from being obvious, and put the finishing touches on what he had been working on most of the night. Today was going to be one of glory, of blood and sulfur, of ash and steel. He laughed uncontrollably now that Roadhog was actually awake, and even his best efforts to stifle it were only halfway effective. 

He expected the big man to snap at him to shut him up, but it never came. Instead he slowly hauled himself off the floor and out the door. Maybe he felt the excitement, too. He returned a few minutes later with an opened but cold can of soup for himself and Junkrat. Junkrat glared momentarily at the spoon sticking out of the can he was handed, but took it and shoveled it down his throat.

"Today's gonna be fun," the big man said after he was finished, and Junkrat got a glimpse of a wicked grin before the mask was pushed back down over it. It ran a shiver up his spine, and he grinned in response.

"Shit yeah," he agreed. "'Specially since I got a new toy I just made!" He pulled the weapon out from under the blanket that had become much less necessary as the day wore on. A ramshackle grenade launcher, spring powered. He could feel the apprehensive stare from behind his bodyguard's mask, which only made him cackle. "Don't worry, mate. It works. Ain't tested it yet, but it works. My things always do. Ya should've seen that exploding tire I made last week."

Roadhog looked like he was going to say something, but instead let out his breath in a long sigh and a shook his head. 

Junkrat stood up and took a pose. "No time like the present, eh? Let's go fuck up some drongos."

They were off on the highway again in no time, with Junkrat experimentally firing rocks and garbage out of his launcher. It worked like a dream. He didn't need it to fire far, just enough to get things moving. He didn't feel like throwing his shoulder out tossing grenades here and there. It was faster this way too, and faster delivery meant more explosions. He giggled to himself.

It only took them about forty minutes to reach the outskirts of Sharkface's territory. Twisted wreckage of lorries and some heavy transports dotted the side of the road in various stages of decay. There was much more here than Junkrat had expected, and it wrenched his stomach to think of just how much stuff the people of Junkertown were being deprived. It rekindled the fire in his head, made him more focused than he had been in a while.

He was going to really enjoy watching the bastard die. It was unfair to the people who were just trying to survive, people who weren't like himself and Roadhog, people who relied on having walls around them because they couldn't defend themselves. They did as best they could by banding together against the unforgiving wastes, and that was to be admired. At least, Junkrat thought so. They tried to scratch real lives out of the cracked rock, and stood their own against the tides of violence that swept over them so often.

They had a strength that Junkrat didn't have, and probably would never have. They had real allies. Junkrat had never had that luxury, and even now he doubted that he would truly find it. Roadhog hadn't yet killed him, but he was always waiting for it. One day he'd be staring down at that gleaming steel hook buried deep in his intestines. He couldn't decide if that idea frightened or excited him. Maybe both. Definitely both. 

But, until that day came, he would do what he did best: blow shit up. He would blow as much shit up as he could, and take as much as he could from those he blew up so that he could blow more shit up. It sounded like a self-sustaining cycle in his head, and it was simple. Junkrat liked simple. He had always had a short attention span, and he tended to get lost in the details. The only exception was engineering, since he could make working schematics in his head and store them nigh indefinitely in his brain. For everything else, simple was the solution.

Roadhog eventually turned off the highway and struck out west. The land started getting more rough, and rocky outcroppings marked here and there. They started down a ravine that widened out due to obvious interference by man; they must be getting close.

"So, what plan we got?" Junkrat asked, loading up grenades into tubes in preparation.

"You blow shit up, I tear apart what's left," Roadhog growled. It was different than the irritated sound he usually used towards the other junker. Deeper, more intense. Almost pleasurable. It sent another one of those shivers up his spine. Today's carnage would definitely be one for the history books.

"Sounds good to me!" Junkrat cackled in response. "Oi, I think that's it!"

Indeed, as Roadhog rounded a bend in the ravine they came into a wide basin that might have been a small lake at one point. Set in the exact center was a stout fortress of scrap metal and concrete, with several tall guard towers spiking up above the walls. The big man gunned the engine with a sharp twist of his wrist and the bike surged forward with a savage roar. He was sure that he heard Roadhog roar with it, but it was ultimately drowned out by his own manic howling.

An alarm raised up within the stronghold and bullets sprayed out from the guard towers. Junkrat ignored them and clambered on top of the sidecar, driven to recklessness by the surge of adrenaline. He lifted up the grenade launcher, said a silent prayer, and fired at the gate.

He aimed specifically at where he suspected the hinges of the structure were, and four rapid succession explosions shook dust off of the steep walls of the ravine. He fired one last one at the center of the door, and was overjoyed to see gates blast backwards just in time for Roadhog to plow through the smoke into the courtyard beyond. Junkrat leapt off of the sidecar as Roadhog purposefully fishtailed across the courtyard to kick up more dust. He rolled into the ground, slammed another tube of grenades into his launcher and fired it indiscriminately to empty it. Myriad screams erupted around him as the bombs detonated, and he repeated the process several times.

Bullets ripped into the dirt around him, but ultimately failed to hit him due to the smokescreen raised by both the explosions and Roadhog's skidding. A metallic rattle shot across the smoke as Roadhog joined the fight with his hook. An agonized scream confirmed that it had hit its target, and the chain hissed malevolently as its victim was dragged quickly across the battlefield into Roadhog's waiting arms. Junkrat couldn't see the big man, but he definitely heard the snap of bones and his bodyguard's low, wheezy chuckle.

Wind whipped through the ravine and tore the smoke out of the way, giving Junkrat a clear view of the carnage. Many of the junkers that formed Sharkface's gang had rushed out to meet them at the sound of the alarm, and he had bullseyed several groups of them. Severed limbs and chunks of charred flesh littered the ground, but most of the junkers had been hit with mortal but not immediately fatal wounds. They were scattered about, dumbed by shock or feebly attempting to reattach their splintered limbs to ruined stumps.

"That all ya got, you sons of dogs?!" he shouted. Roadhog swung his hook around and dragged a man out of one of the guard towers. "I'm handin' out free tickets to Hell here, step right up!" He slammed another set of grenades in his launcher and fired one up into another tower. The men screamed as they clambered to get out of the blast radius, but were ultimately too slow. Limbs and et cetera flew in all directions, and Junkrat had to sidestep an unidentifiable organ as it plopped down on the ground next to him.

Things were going pretty damn smoothly, Junkrat thought as he started launching grenades into doors and windows and Roadhog blew out the back of a junker's head with scrap. Too smoothly. He knew Sharkface had all kinds of tech, so where was it? Maybe it was all some elaborate ruse that he had cooked up to keep people from wedging him out of his hidey hole. There was no way this was that easy. His grin turned into an irritable snarl.

Roadhog seemed to be coming to the same conclusion, seeing as how the big man started inching closer to him. By the time they had cleared out the junkers dumb enough to charge them in the courtyard, they were back to back.

There was a breather in which Junkrat was able to survey the stronghold. The buildings were built up on each other against the wall, and ladders led up to some of the higher doors. The back wall was the most built up and fortified, with the highest buildings stacked up above the wall. It left the center relatively clear, aside from the few piles of scrap here and there that were obviously broken-down carrier containers and vehicles.

"Where is that dill's trump card?" Junkrat muttered. Roadhog grunted in response. 

" _He's trying to psych us out_ ," Junkrat's mind translated.

"Well, he ain't gonna get us," he responded. "He'll send shit out after us any second now."

Sharkface made them wait a solid twenty-three seconds (he counted!) before the next wave was sent put after them. A low, throbbing hum started up on all sides, and Roadhog saw them before he did. He started to protest when the big man scooped him up into his arms and took off to a doorway Junkrat had blown out. Then he looked up and saw the drones.

There were five if them, gleaming white and matte black, all angles and flat planes. Three props set on arms reaching out around them kept them aloft, and they bore down on the two of them. Junkrat saw the heavy payload of RPGs attached to their bottoms and snarled. No one used his own element against him. HE was the king of the boom, not these damn rocket bots. He lifted his grenade launcher and fired at the nearest one repeatedly. It dodged easily out of the way of most of them and the detonated harmlessly on the other side of the courtyard. 

One struck true, however. The grenade burst and set off the rockets strapped to the bottom of the drone. It exploded in a sparkling fireball, and Junkrat whooped as one of the propellers spiraled off and collided with another drone. The collateral lost one of its own props and it spiraled uselessly in the air before slamming hard into a wall.

Roadhog practically slid through the doorway and scrambled into cover behind a metal counter. He wrapped his body protectively around Junkrat, and the thin man felt heat rise up his neck. This was definitely the closest he had been to somebody in quite a long time, and he was not really prepared for the way his bodyguard's body enveloped him.

He jumped as he heard the splutter and hiss of the RPGs hanging off the remaining drones fire. They exploded all around the room they were in, and the two of them were engulfed in fire and noise. Junkrat's ears rang painfully, and he knew he couldn't hear. He felt Roadhog shudder around him and the rumble of his voice, but he didn't hear the words. He opened his eyes and looked at his bodyguard, who looked much worse for wear. His skin was seared  black and red and was splitting from the heat, and shrapnel dotted here and there. Shit.

His mind filled with static. There was no way he was coming back from that. It would take months for his skin to heal, if it did at all. He was about to start freaking out when Roadhog motioned at his pants. His panic switched rails mid-thought and Junkrat stiffened indignantly. He was  _not_ going to give this guy a last hurrah. He started cussing him out. Roadhog headbutted him in response.

"The canister," he shouted, just loud enough for Junkrat to hear over the ringing. The shout earned a coughing fit, which made Junkrat's scramble at his waistband that much harder. Sure enough though, there was a hidden pocket that contained a squat metal canister. It was bright yellow with a red plastic cap and all kinds of warnings with complicated words that Junkrat couldn't read. Roadhog gestured towards the vents on his mask and made a twisting motion. He twitched in pain as the movement cracked more skin.

He was completely uncertain what the canister was going to do, but he followed instructions. Maybe it was cyanide or something, an easy way out. The thought pissed him off as he flipped the cap open and shoved it against one of the vents. He felt it click in place and twisted it. If that was the case, he hoped the bastard choked on it.

Whatever he was expecting, it sure was not clouds of thick yellow gas issuing from the loose stitching on the mask. He coughed and scrunched his eyes shut as the reeking vapor stung his eyes and throat, but Roadhog breathed it deep into his lungs and held it. He took a couple of breaths like that before he brought his hand up to the canister to remove it. Junkrat opened his eyes and saw the black and red receding on the big man's skin, cracks stitching shut, leaving blood behind. Shrapnel was forced out of holes that closed up behind them. Within a few seconds, he almost looked like he hadn't just been charbroiled at all.

"Hooley dooley, ya been holdin' out on me, mate." Junkrat was surprised that the ringing in his ears had gone down much faster than usual. He must have gotten some benefit from the secondhand exposure. Roadhog let out the rest of the fumes from his lungs with a final eruption of yellow from the seams of the mask. He patted Junkrat on the head, putting out the embers in his hair that he hadn't realized were there.

The touch jogged Junkrat's mind, that there were still enemies. He reloaded his grenade launcher and stood up on his bodyguard's lap. He shouted something unintelligible and fired out the windows and door. One, two, three direct hits and the drones went down quickly. He laughed but yelped as he was yanked down by the straps on his vest.

"Watch where you're standing, Rat," Roadhog growled into his nose, which was once again pressed against the rough leather of the gas mask's snout. He suddenly realized that Roadhog was more or less at the perfect height to have his face share the same level as his belt buckle, which rode pretty low on his hips. Junkrat laughed nervously by way of apology, which was apparently enough since the big man pushed him off with just enough force to give himself enough room to stand.

"Still got work to do," he growled, the same tone as on the ride up. Junkrat scrambled to follow, that simple sentence sparking his destructive fire back to life. They still had to bring this place down. 

They walked outside only to be greeted by the rest of Sharkface's crew, augmented by an equal number of graffiti-covered cop bots. They all raised their weapons and Junkrat pulled out a special tube of grenades, marked with red paint. They were higher load than his usual fare, made just for occasions like this.

"Oh I got somethin' fer this," he chuckled as he clicked it into place. Roadhog sighed one of his long-suffering sighs and whipped his hook to a nearby junk pile. He snagged a thick piece of sheet metal and interposed it between them and the army just as they opened fire.

Junkrat whooped excitedly and shot up into the air. He would need to fire blind and with a high trajectory to clear the metal, but it really didn't matter so long as the grenades landed in the general area of enemies. The explosions went off, much louder than his previous ones, and the chorus of screaming started again. He fired a few more times, and the volley of bullets reduced significantly. It reduced to the point that Roadhog felt confident enough to throw off their cover and start fishing for victims. The crunch of bone and deep laughter set a nice counterpoint to Junkrat's explosions and high-pitched cackle.

The big guy had been right. Today was fun. It was also over far too soon. They stood in the center of the carnage, both breathing heavily as the thrill of the fight wore down. They looked at each other for a few seconds before they both started laughing. It started low, but they were soon both howling with laugher, Roadhog bent over with his hands on his knees and Junkrat on his back with his legs kicking in the air. It took them a few minutes to calm back down, and they only really stopped when Roadhog broke into a vicious coughing fit.

"Shit mate, that gas must be fucking with your lungs," Junkrat said, remembering how much the acrid smelling stuff stung all the sensitive surfaces inside his face.

"Always been like this," he said, clearing his throat one last time. "Ever since the omnium blew up."

"You should get that looked at." Junkrat took an inventory of his grenades. He was starting to run low.

"Already did. Anyway, let's go get that fat fuck." Roadhog stooped to pick up a dead body and strode towards the big door set opposite the blown in gate. He paused long enough to kick the door off its hinges and strode into the hallway beyond.

Junkrat followed quickly. They were almost done with this. He shivered with anticipation. He had been planning this out for years, and now it was almost done. The first step on spitting in the face of those who thought themselves better than others. He was so lost in his own excitement that he ran right into Roadhog, who had stopped.

"Oi, what ya doin'?"

The big man grunted and pointed at an odd looking camera situated above a door placed in the middle of the hall. Junkrat cooked his head at it and took a step forward, but was instantly shoved back by a giant hand.

"Watch," Roadhog said, and tossed the body he was dragging towards the door. Instantly, the camera sprung to life and focused on the body. The area immediately surrounding the door suddenly burst into flames as jets of fire poured out of vents he hadn't seen in the walls. The stench of burning flesh filled the hall, and Junkrat wrinkled his nose. The flamethrowers continued for a full thirty seconds and there was not much left of the body after they receded. 

"Nice trick," Junkrat conceded, and hefted his grenade launcher. "Nothin' a little boom can't handle, though."

He fired a grenade at the camera, and it detonated on impact. The ruins of the equipment went all over, but the flames did not go off. Roadhog looked skeptical.

"Easy," Junkrat said loftily, and strode forward confidently. Roadhog made to grab at him, but it was too late. The thin junker was already at the door opening it. The other sighed irritably and balled up his fist like he was imagining crushing his charge in it for a moment before he followed after. There were a few more camera traps, but now that he knew what to look for, they were easy enough to disable. They finally walked into a large room with a big throne set against the back wall. Tables with food were scattered here and there, and fancy pieces of equipment were stacked in the corners.

Sharkface was nowhere to be seen, however. They started into the room when a stifled hiccup came out from under one of the tables. Roadhog lifted the furniture easily and flipped it over, ignoring the breaking of dishes and spilling of food everywhere. The woman who was hiding under the table shrieked and balled herself up. Roadhog bent down and grabbed her jaw and forced her head around to look and the him. Junkrat noticed the collar around her neck and the incredibly revealing outfit she was stuffed into and sniffed in disgust. Castration was definitely on the list before, but it now was moved up a few spaces.

"Where is he?" he asked, his voice low. It was probably the least intimidating that he had heard his bodyguard's voice get, but even then it was pretty scary. He wasn't sure it was possible for the man to not sound like a monster.

The woman's demeanor changed instantly and her eyes darted over to the throne. She put her hand on Roadhog's, and he let her go. She stood up shakily and darted over to the big chair. She flipped up one of the arm rests and started entering a code on a keypad that was hidden underneath. The whole dias that the throne was situated on moved to the side silently to reveal a hole with a ladder leading down. She seated herself on the chair and motioned down into the pit.

Roadhog grunted and moved to go down the ladder. The woman touched his shoulder to stop him.

"Make it painful," she said, her green eyes as hard as stone. Roadhog nodded at her and slid down the ladder easily. Junkrat followed less than gracefully. It was difficult to do that slide when you were missing limbs.

The hallway under the throne led to a vault door. It was big and fortified, definitely would take some work to get through. Junkrat immediately noticed one fatal flaw to the design: the hinges were on the outside. They were also big enough to set a can on top of. He happened to have a few fancy powders that mixed together to form a very volatile substance.

Roadhog had already turned to him to see if he had a solution to this dilemma. Junkrat grinned wildly at him and set back up the ladder.

Fifteen minutes later, he was putting the finishing touches on the cans of thermite. He loved the stuff, and while it was not efficient to try to weaponize it, watching it melt through stuff always cheered him up when nothing else would. Unfortunately, this particular application used what he had left of the components. It was a worthy cause, he figured, as he set matches into the middle of the powder in the coffee cans and set them on the hinges. It was unreliable to light with electric fuses, he had found. Direct fire was the best. He touched lit matches to the makeshift fuses, waited until they caught, then scrambled back up the ladder as fast as he could.

There was a guttering roar as the compound caught fire, and light flashed up the hole.

"You're useful in a pinch," Roadhog grunted. 

"Is that actually a compliment?" Junkrat said with a grin. He was definitely testing boundaries. "You do have a heart in there, Roadie." A hand enveloped his face and he was pushed backwards slightly.

"Don't push it."

He giggled into the giant palm, but wasn't really sure what was pushing the boundary between making fun of him or the nickname. "Sure thing, mate," he responded, and the hand was removed. The hissing of the thermite died down and Junkrat climbed back down to inspect his handiwork.

Thankfully, his plan worked. It was hard to say if the thermite was going to go where he wanted it to go, but there really hadn't been the materials to create molds around the hinges. They had been melted clean through, and the glowing was starting to subside. Roadhog slid back down the ladder behind him and landed with a grunt. 

"Give it a bit to cool, then you can yank this thing open," Junkrat advised. "I ain't got the hand anymore or else I'd show ya the nice burns I got from touchin' somethin' I melted through with this stuff too soon."

Roadhog huffed in response and leaned against the wall. Junkrat tested the metal every few minutes with a candle. It wound up being a pretty long wait, and Roadhog had slid down into a sit and pulled out a book while he was waiting.

"Whatcha readin'?" Junkrat asked.

"Shit," was the response.

"Then why read it?"

A shrug. "Something to do."

"Ya truly are a master of words, Roadie." He shook his head and stuck the half melted candle against the steel again. It continued to melt.

"One of us has to be," Roadhog said. 

"Oh-ho, a soft interior and a comedian! Yer on fire today!"

No response. Conversations were definitely not his strong suit. Oh well, another approach. He needed to keep his mind on something. The lack of action caused his thoughts to wander, and they kept wandering to the fact that Roadhog had taken fire for him. Yeah, he hired him as his bodyguard, but he hadn't actually been prepared for that role to be put in practice. It made him feel strange. Uneasy. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was that was causing those feelings, and it bothered him. 

Conversation. That's what he needed. 

"What's that stuff in that can?"

"Hogdrogen."

"Roadie," Junkrat said with a pained tone and a matching expression as he turned to face his bodyguard, "I know that pigs are like, your shtick or whatever, but come on. That's ridiculous."

"That's what I said when I saw it," he snorted in response and dug the can out. "I'm not kidding. It says it on the can. Some kinda mind trick the medics use or somethin' to make it sound harmless I think." He held out the yellow canister. Sure enough, there was a cartoon pig with "hogdrogen" next to it in bold letters. Junkrat started to laugh.

"Fate or somethin', I don't know." Roadhog huffed and returned to his book.

"What's in it?" Junkrat inquired, still laughing.

"Hell if I know."

That was about all he figured he was going to get out of the big man. He was irritatingly reticent. He supposed that was a good survival mechanism, but he couldn't do it. He was way too animated, and his thoughts had a tendency to spill out without him realizing it. In due time though, the door was cool enough for him to feel confident in letting Roadhog touch it. He triumphantly announced this to the big man, who dog-eared his page in the book, snapped it shut, and stood up. He stuffed the book into his back pocket and moved up to the door. He rolled his shoulders in preparation for the task and fitted his fingers around the hinge side of the door. 

Junkrat moved out of the way and watched as Roadhog strained at the door. He knew he was strong, but he wasn't really aware of just how much of Roadhog's mass was actually muscle until he saw it all straining under his skin. He was kind of jealous of it. Junkrat was wiry and tall, but not exactly high up on the physical strength spectrum. He looked more like a walking scarecrow than anything. Roadhog, though. It became clear why it was so easy for him to crush people in his hands as the door slowly started to open up. The locks had to be bent to actually open the door, and they were probably thick metal bars. 

Junkrat figured that having the hinges on the outside wasn't such a big design flaw anymore. Not to normal people. Not to people who didn't have the sheer muscle mass that Roadhog had. Sweat was starting to break out over the big man' skin and he was groaning under the strain. Was it getting hot in here?

His thoughts were broken by a scream of metal protesting against being bent, and with one final roar from Roadhog, the door was wrenched out of the doorway. It slid off of the lock bars and hit the floor with a reverberating crash. Roadhog forced the door against the wall so that it didn't fall across the hallway. He huffed heavily, and he was drenched in sweat. Junkrat applauded him excitedly, and he was shot a thumbs up. The blond rat practically skipped into the room beyond. 

It was lushly furnished, although some of the furnishings were tipped over to make a makeshift fort in the corner. A plump, piggish face peeked up over the barricade and pointed a little .22 at him.

"Don't move! Or I'll shoot!"

Junkrat rolled his eyes and pointed his grenade launcher towards the man. "How 'bout I shoot ya first and redecorate this place with your innards?"

The man squeaked and dropped the gun. "N-no, please! I don't wanna die!"

There was a disgusted noise behind Junkrat. He turned to see Roadhog standing there with his arms crossed.

"You've turned yourself into pudding, Sharkface."

Junkrat had to do a quintuple take. "This pathetic porker is Sharkface?" he demanded indignantly. Roadhog nodded. It took a lot of effort for Junkrat to not throw his grenade launcher across the room. "This is the fucker that has kept shit from getting to Junkertown? No way. This is a joke."

"He used to be a serious threat," his bodyguard rumbled. "He got so used to his luxuries that he let himself go. He hid behind the traps and drones."

"What a joke!" Junkrat almost screamed as he threw his hands up to the ceiling. "I don't even want to kill this bloke, he's just a cream puff. No satisfaction."

Sharkface stuck his pudgy face back up over the barrier and hope sparkled in his beady little eyes. "You're not going to kill me?"

"Oh no, we're still gonna kill ya. Roadie, is there a sign or something we can string him up to on that highway?"

He felt a warm feeling fill his stomach from the way the twitch of Roadhog's ears belied the grin that split his face. That was definitely a yes.

Twenty minutes later, the finishing touches were put on the ropes that tied the fat Sharkface to the warning sign that alerted convoys to them entering hostile territory. It was a big sign, maybe fifteen feet high or so, set on two thick metal poles. They strung him up under the sign itself, with his arms and legs spread. Junkrat shook a can of yellow spray paint thoughtfully as Roadhog and the woman (who had insisted on coming with) triple-checked the ropes. They didn't really have to worry about the man getting loose; the wildlife would eat him alive before the sun rose tomorrow. 

Sharkface was still pleading with them, begging to be let go, he'd stop assaulting convoys, not that he could anymore. His gang was wiped out.

"'Ey, Roadhog. Gimme a boost, would ya?" Junkrat pointed up to the sign, which was currently bore graffiti of a big red shark. "Gotta leave me callin' card."

Roadhog acquiesced and lifted him up onto his shoulders. Junkrat steadied himself by holding on to the spikes on Roadhog's shoulder. He quickly painted a weird smiley face, it's mouth taking up half its face and X-ed out eyes. It stood out against the shark, and hoped that it made it clear that the route was safe to travel again. It would have to do.  He looked down at the woman. She had told them that she had been kidnapped from a recent convoy and pressed into service of Sharkface. She wasn't a junker, but Junkrat had been pleased at her ready acceptance of their brutal form of justice.

He was sure that she wouldn't be satisfied by whatever passed as "justice" in the big cities. It was better this way.

"Ya sure you can handle yourself out here?" he asked, still perched on Roadhog's shoulders.

She hefted the bag of supplies she had collected before they left onto her shoulder, readjusted the blanket around her, pulled out the gun she had pilfered from the dead junkers, and smiled. "I've got a phone and water, I'll be fine. I just need to find civilization. No offense to you boys, but the outback is hell on earth. It'll be nice to let my friends and family know I'm not dead."

"If ya say so," he said, and waved her off. The two of them  watched her walk off down the road in the sunset for a few minutes before Roadhog spoke up.

"Are you going to get off or am I going to throw you off that cliff?"


	6. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat is not good at the whole "feelings" thing. Roadhog is arguably worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, eh?  
> This is a short chapter. Compared to the others. It's really not short at all.

There was a lot more to explore in Sharkface's compound than Junkrat had initially thought. The piled on shipping containers were labyrinthine, and he found himself going in circles quite a few times until he had started marking where he had come in at in each room. There wasn't a whole lot of money to be found, which was expected; outside of Junkertown, trading was the norm. You only ever collected cash if you were planning on going to or staying in the city. There was a lot of canned foods and military rations stashed away, which Junkrat diligently collected and piled in one place. No reason to go look for it again tomorrow.

It was already well after nightfall, but there was so much to see that he couldn't relax. Roadhog had suggested that they stay a couple of days since there wasn't any immediate danger, other than the corpses and gore that littered the courtyard. So they'd stay inside, no big deal. The vultures had to eat too, and if the dingoes got ballsy, he'd just blow them up. Easy.

He dug through a dresser filled with an assortment of clothing. They were mostly unworn and in pristine condition, obviously meant for the people of Junkertown. Shirts and pants went over his shoulder all over the dirty room as he dug around for something interesting. He lost interest when nothing came up in a drawer and a half and continued on to the next room. He'd probably be back anyway.

There was a dual purpose to his scavenging. First and foremost, he was looking for supplies. Food, scrap, parts, anything that could be of use. Secondly, he needed some thinking time. He had a lot happen to him in the span of only a few days, and he needed to set it all straight in his mind so he wouldn't forget the important parts. Thinking for Junkrat also involved a lot of talking to himself aloud, so it was partly self preservation that put him well out of earshot of Roadhog to decompress.

Also partly because he didn't want the big guy to hear him.

It's not that he didn't trust Roadhog; he did, he  _had_ to, didn't really have any choice. The man's hands were bigger than he was, all it would take is one clenching of a fist to end his career. It was purely by the grace of God that he was still alive, and that Roadhog had accepted his spur-of-the-moment offer. Junkrat wasn't even sure if the big guy would just get tired of him and force him to show where the treasure was hidden and take it all. He reminded himself again that he really didn't know anything about the man.

It was really stupid, he reminded himself again, that he would throw himself at the giant's mercy. He argued back that he wasn't ready to die just yet, and any reprieve was an opportunity to spin things in his favor. Maybe he could make himself indispensable to Roadhog, become so much of an asset that he felt like less of a nuisance.

Oh yes, like talking to yourself? That's totally what an asset does, mate. He kicked the corner of a doorway as he walked through it irritably. Why was he so much of a goddamn nuisance? He could feel it when people were getting irritated with him, which honestly only ever served to make him even more nervous and thus talk more. It usually took a strike to get him to shut up, but it's not like he liked that part of him. He just couldn't help it.

Yet the big asshole had proven that he was trustworthy. He had taken the fire for Junkrat, fire that probably would have killed him had Roadhog not been there to wrap himself around him. Junkrat rubbed his shoulder absently, still remembering the feeling of being protected like that. No one had ever done anything like that for him. Not that he could remember. No one had ever stuck their neck out for him, or risked death or disfigurement. He wasn't sure how to take it. It stuck in his mind like a wad of hair and oil in a drain, and caused a backlog of thoughts in the sink of his mind.

He stewed in his own thoughts and stopped marking doors as a result. So he was quite surprised when he found himself in a well-stocked kitchen. There had to have been enough food in there for at least five times what they had killed that day. No wonder Sharkface turned into a fat blob. Junkrat dug through the cupboards and pantries, finding more and more goodies. Inspection of the surrounding rooms revealed that he had wound up down the hall from Sharkface's room, where Roadhog was relaxing.

He had been taught the basics of cooking. Nothing super spectacular, but enough to make basic dishes. He had privately suspected that his big companion didn't know how to himself, considering that every meal he had supplied insofar had been cold canned food.

As he set to work, he was once again reminded of the old woman when he was first brought to Junkertown. She hadn't been very old, but to his young self she had seemed ancient. She had been kind to him, and had tried to take over for his mother. He had done nothing but take out his anger and frustration on her. She had been understanding and patient, knowing that his mother had been taken from him and that he was in an unfamiliar environment.

It was probably the only thing he ever really regretted, and even though cooking made him remember his shitty behavior towards her, it always made him feel like he was making up for it somehow by putting what she had taught him to use.

He wasn't sparing about how much he made. Most of this would probably go to waste well before anyone else found it, and they couldn't take it all with them. So, may as well eat it. He hadn't been able to actually eat his fill in...well, ever, and he was sure Roadhog could eat even more. 

Thankfully there was a trolley nearby that Junkrat could pile plates on top of. Well, they weren't really plates, more like platters. Lots of platters. Covered in food. He felt briefly guilty about using so much, but reminded himself of his previous logic as he pushed the food down the hallway that connected the kitchen to the bedroom. May as well eat what what there.

"Oi Roadie, the kitchen in this place is stocked to the gills! I made us a victory feast to celebrate!" To accentuate, he rode the trolley into the room and waved his hand toward the food. He turned to where Roadhog had been when Junkrat had left, on the bed. The big man was still there, still reading a paperback that looked incredibly small in his hands. Roadhog looked up to where he was standing, his arms spread out over the food in pride. 

"You can cook?" He didn't even try to hide the doubtful tone. Rude.

Junkrat crossed his arms in a huff. "'Course I can. Ya just never asked." He grabbed a plate off the top and sat down on the nearby table before purposefully shoveling the food in with his good hand. He was so preoccupied with making it as messy as he could that it wound up backfiring on him spectacularly when he bit his finger. Hard.

He very nearly spilled all of the food on the plate as he swore and shook his hand in the air. He didn't even notice Roadhog was there until his wrist was grabbed and a spoon was forced into his fist.

"Idiot," the big man rumbled before he turned to the cart himself. He picked out a plate, shoved his mask up enough to try the food before he decided it was acceptable enough to eat. He sat down in a nearby armchair and ate steadily through that plate before he reached over for another. 

Normally, being babied in such a way would make Junkrat furious, but he realized that the reaction he got was what he was he was looking for. Weird. He chewed on the end of the spoon thoughtfully between bites, trying to figure out why he'd be fishing for such a reaction. He was testing the big guy, he decided by the time he was done with his first plate. Testing to see if earlier that day had been a fluke.

"You're quiet," Roadhog observed when Junkrat came over for a second serving.

"I'm eating." He grabbed another and turned back to the table. Roadhog grunted behind him in a way that made it clear he was unsatisfied with the answer but not interested enough to pursue.

Oh, he was good. The best way to get Junkrat to spill anything was to be uninterested in whatever he had to say. So he only squirmed around on the table for maybe twenty seconds before he threw his spoon down on his plate in frustration. 

"Why'd ya do it?"

Roadhog looked up from his plate in an way that was probably a reaction more than anything, since his mask was pulled up and there was no way he could actually see with the snout right where his eyes would be.

"What?"

"Don't give me that big dumb 'what' mate, you know what." He wavered slightly as the other's lips pulled back in a snarl. "Why'd you save me?" It sounded spectacularly stupid as he said it, but it needed to be answered. The gnawing in his head needed to stop.

"What," Roadhog responded again, this time more of a statement than a question as his lips dropped into a frown. Like he wasn't believing what he had heard. He wiped his mouth with his hand and pulled the mask back down to actually look at Junkrat, who was near shaking in frustration. 

"I know ya heard me! Why?" It sounded even stupider the second time.

Roadhog seemed to flounder at the question, trying to figure out if the scrawny man was serious or not. After a few seconds of cocking his head and rubbing at his neck with no change in Junkrat's intense expression, he figured that it was.

"Well," he started lamely, his tone making it clear that he thought this whole thing was stupid, "we're partners, right?"

"I guess," Junkrat responded, not sure where that was going.

"And you promised me money," the other continued. "So if you die, I don't get paid. So I protected you." He ended it with a shrug.

"But you could have died!" Junkrat jumped up from the table at this point, completely ignored the fact that the plate that was in his lap went all over the floor and paced around in front of his bodyguard, who seemed to sag in the chair a bit like a deflating balloon.

"Nah," Roadhog disagreed. "Takes more than that to kill me."

"But you needed me to help you," Junkrat pointed out. "What would you have done if I hadn't been there?" He lifted his hands up to his head to tug at his hair but forced them back down. Best to not let that habit start back up. 

"I would have been fine. You were there so it was more convenient than forcing my arms to move through the pain." Another shrug. "You'll probably have to do it again sometime."

"Th-that's n-n-not--!" He swallowed a scream of frustration. The clog wasn't moving. It made no sense still, and the nonchalance of Roadhog's answers were only distressing him more. "You're tellin' me that you'd jump up in front of me for money?" A shrug and nod set him to grinding his teeth and he was about to get really wound up when Roadhog finally stood. Two big hands clasped around either side of his scrawny frame, pinned his arms to his sides, and lifted him into the air.

"Calm down."

He did. There wasn't really much other choice in his current situation. Junkrat was once again reminded how tall the other junker was. He focused on that instead, and he slumped in the hands around him. The distressingly big hands. No, not distressing. Distracting.

"What's wrong." The voice was flat, but not angry. More like a patient father trying to understand why his two year old was having a temper tantrum. It made Junkrat both irritated at himself for being the toddler in this situation and curious if the behemoth holding him had experience in that field. Regardless, he squirmed uncomfortably as he tried to work his thoughts into words.

"It's just that," he swallowed and shook a little bit, "just that no one's ever looked out fer me before." His voice was a lot smaller than he meant it to be. Once again, feeling like a toddler. Hell, he was even close to crying. He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep the tears back as he was set down on the ground.

There were a few seconds of awkward silence, only broken by Roadhog's breathing.

"So, a man wakes up in the hospital after a serious accident..."

Junkrat blinked and looked up to the emotionless mask as the man behind it started talking. What was he taking about?

"He shouts, 'Doctor! I can't feel my legs!' The doctor comes in and tells him, 'I know, I've cut off your arms.'"

It took a second or two for the fact that a joke was just told to sink in before Junkrat felt himself start to laugh. He ramped up slowly to cackling, the whole time feeling his stress drain out of him brain.

"Cut off his--lookit this, hog man's got the jokes!" He howled and doubled over as Roadhog gave a satisfied grunt and sat back down to continue eating. "Ain't never heard that one before mate, you got any others?" He hovered over at the other's elbow, ignoring the fact that Roadhog had pushed his mask back up and already had shoved more food in his mouth.

"What did the green grape say to the purple grape?"

"Iunno, wot?"

"Breathe, you idiot!"

That one reduced Junkrat to tears on the floor. It wasn't even a good joke, but it felt so good to laugh after having been wound that tightly. Roadhog just kept eating through several plates as the other kept devolving into fits of laughter even as he tried as hard as he could to collect himself. He finally did, gaping for air and holding his hurting ribs as he say on the floor and leaned against the bigger man's chair. 

"Mate, that's the worst joke I ever heard."

"Still laughed."

"And I'm mad at myself for it." Junkrat sat up and looked up to where Roadhog was still eating. He was right in his thinking before, the man could really pack it away. He was ignoring Junkrat in favor for eating his fill. His eyes went to the broad arms, where bandages and gloves were scorched and frayed, but the skin underneath was whole.

He still remembered what Roadhog's skin had looked like, all covered in black scales with angry red in between. The smell of burning hair and scorched skin had long since worked itself out of his nose, but it came to his mind easily. Cautiously, fully expecting to be beaten for it, he reached up with his good hand and lightly ran his fingers over the weathered skin. Roadhog twitched and looked over to him, again a reaction more than anything else. Junkrat pulled his fingers away at the movement and looked up at the grim mouth facing him.

"What did the cow say to the masked robber?"

"What?"

"Moo."

The night continued like that, with Roadhog purposefully throwing the worst jokes in his repertoire at Junkrat every time the wiry blond tried to be serious about anything outside of what they were going to do the next day or their next hit. Junkrat finally crawled into the giant bed, his whole body aching and unwilling to move anymore. He felt the bed shift as the other got in and got comfortable. It was a huge bed, wide enough to accommodate the both of them with breathing room and long enough that Junkrat could stretch out and still not reach the end.

After he was done wrecking the status quo, he'd need to get a bed like this for his retirement. He fell asleep quickly, and had dreams of cruising through the sky on a cloud powered by and outboard engine.


	7. Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat does Junkrat stuff, and it goes poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy I guess I should update this one too so everyone isn't left hangin', eh???  
> I should be sleeping but instead I'm displaying my complete lack of knowledge of how the human body works.

There was a lot to be said for hunting in buildings, but Roadhog found himself really wishing that there was a bit more space. And a breeze. And not in an abandoned hospital that this current gang had set up in. The duo was three more strongholds into their quest, and Junkrat had mixed his explosives improperly the previous night. There was choking smoke everywhere, and it made things very difficult to see. He waved a particularly dense wisp out of his face as he stalked through the hall. The smokescreen was poorly timed on his wiry partner's part.

To make things worse, Junkrat had gotten himself separated. So it was all Roadhog could do to follow the trail of devastation to try to find the little bastard before he got himself killed.

There were some pops from a room he passed as bullets sprayed around him and clipped his back. He spun around and fired some scrap into the room, and grunted in satisfaction as someone cried out in pain before letting out some telltale gurgles of imminent death. He continued, and shoved some more bolts into his gun. That was what he had been doing the past five minutes, cleaning up the stragglers. The smoke was at least making it so they didn't know exactly where he was, so he had a fighting chance in unfamiliar territory.

There was a series of explosions from the floor above, and the building shook considerably. The big man sighed as streams of dirt fell on him from the remnants of the drop ceiling. If the bandits weren't going to get him, the collapsing building might. He hoisted up his pants and trotted down the hall towards the next staircase. That was one thing the bandits did right, at least: they had managed to barricade the stairs at irritating intervals, which made it necessary to traverse the length of each floor in order to proceed to the next.

“I'm gettin' too old for this bullshit,” he muttered to himself as he reached the next flight of stairs. It wasn't very far, but he was wheezing more than he wanted to by the time he hit the next floor. He opened the door and was met by much fresher smoke, as evidenced by it being substantially thicker. He sighed again and coughed as some of the haze got into his mask and down his throat. He was going to strangle the little fucker if someone else hadn't already done it by the time he found him. Another rumble reverberated through the structure. He was pretty sure he heard a high-pitched cackle.

Roadhog grumbled to himself as he trundled across the building, one hand on the wall. His progress was halted here and there as he tripped over dismembered bits and bobs or shot someone who managed to avoid a grenade. Up another set of stairs, and across another floor. He baited himself with the idea of tossing the jackass responsible for this layout off the top of the hospital with his hook in their gut to keep moving.

As he ascended to the last floor, it occurred to him that he hadn't heard any explosions in a few minutes, and this floor didn't have quite as much smoke. He hoped that meant that Junkrat had already taken care of everything, but the black hole that opened up in the pit of his stomach told Roadhog otherwise. He double checked his gun and pulled his hook out and prepared himself.

There weren't as many rooms up on this floor, as this seemed to be mostly conference rooms and offices. Most of the windows were smashed out, and there were substantial locks that were installed on some doors after the new tenants had moved in. Several dark smears and bits of what looked like dogs dotted the hallway in front of a set of large doors that had the jackal head emblem of this gang panted over them. At least he wouldn't have to look far for the boss. Roadhog squared himself up and kicked the doors open.

The scene that he was met with was more or less what he expected: there were about five people in the room who looked like high-ranking lieutenants of the gang, all with gnarly-looking weapons. Feral dogs and dingoes were chained to the walls here and there, and a couple of them were loose but being restrained by a person with a long pole with a ring on the end. The leader of the Helljackals was seated on a very plush-looking pile of pillows, dressed in artistically ruined leathers with wraps covering her more intimate parts. She had Junkrat pulled up against her with a nasty-looking knife to his throat. The scene actually looked rather comical, considering the blond's height compared to his captor, discounting the numerous scratches and bites on him and the missing prosthetic arm that was currently being chewed on by a dingo in the corner.

“I didn't know this was your type, Rat,” Roadhog bantered, shifting his weight backwards in a mock display of letting his guard down.

“Not really, mate,” Junkrat chattered nervously. “She just don't take no for an answer.”

“Shut it,” the woman snapped, and pressed the blade against her hostage's throat. “Who sent you?”

Roadhog cocked his head. “No one.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” she hissed. The blade drew a small rivulet of blood. “Someone had to have sent you. Was it Harver? I bet it was him. What's he paying you?”

“What, so you can offer more? And nah, Harver's dead. Pulled his spine out myself.” Roadhog cracked his neck dramatically. “We're just doing some spring cleaning. And that's my maid you got there.”

“So that's what you've been reduced to? Spring cleaning?” She spat on the ground and hauled herself and Junkrat up. “One of the most fearsome bastards in Junkertown, reduced to being a nanny for some radiation-addled brat.” She waved the knife towards the big man while still keeping a tight grip on the back of Junkrat's neck.

“I'm getting a bit old to be swinging motorcycles over peoples heads,” Roadhog mused as he scratched under his harness with his hook. “Besides, keeping track of this brat is a full time job. Wanna trade? I'll run what's left of your gang for a day, you can make sure he washes his hands after taking a piss.”

Junkrat devolved into a fit of giggles that was quickly cut off by being jerked backwards almost too far.

“Don't _fuck_ with me, old man! I'm gonna give you five seconds to turn around and get out.”

“Not without the brat.”

“Nuh-uh. He stays with me. I'm gonna carve the names of all my pack he blew up into his hide, then tan it and spread it across my wall.”

“Hmmmm,” Roadhog brought a hand up to his chin thoughtfully. “No deal,” he concluded.

The Helljackal leader let out a high-pitched snarl of rage before she plunged the dagger in between Junkrat's ribs. He let out a yelp and was tossed by the wayside as the dogs that were being restrained had their poles released and charged at Roadhog along with the leader and the lieutenants.

Somewhere in the back of Roadhog's mind, classical music started playing.

It was where he was actually calm, where things like morality and feelings didn't matter. The middle of a life or death battle was where he had become comfortable. He swung his hook and gun in equal measure, sparing his shots for when they made the most use. Skin split and bones splintered in a frenetic dance of survival as Roadhog's vision narrowed to centralize on what was going on. For the moment, he forgot about Junkrat dying off to the side to focus on his own peril. He parried a swing of a nailbat with his gun and ripped the guts out of the attacker with his hook in one swift motion, while at the same time hip-checking another opponent into the reaches of one of the restrained dingoes. The pain of being bitten or beaten dulled by his state of mind, he reacted much faster than his assailants expected him to, and they were quickly dispatched into quivering forms oozing out blood and insides.

The barking of the dogs chained to the walls is what really brought him back to reality, and he looked around and his eyes fell on Junkrat. He had tried to crawl away from the fighting as best he could as evidenced by the smear of blood left behind, and now was half-buried under the pile of pillows in the middle. Roadhog quickly pulled the pile off of him and flipped him over and started swearing under his breath. Blood was draining out of the young man's mouth, and his eyes were going glassy. Roadhog went to pull off his mask to try to deliver some of his healing gas to the other, but he saw that Junkrat wasn't breathing.

“Shit, shit, _shit_. Please let this work.” He dug out a yellow canister and shoved it into a filter on his mask and inhaled as much as he could. He saw spots in front of his eyes and his head began to swim alarmingly as he held on to it to pull the mask up and grab a hold of Junkrat's face. He grabbed the nose of the dying (he had to keep telling himself that he wasn't dead yet) man and pressed his mouth to the others and blew. He ignored the gross bubbling sound of blood being expelled through the gash that was cut in the other's lung and the taste of blood.

No reaction. Roadhog growled and replaced his mask and drew out another canister and repeated the process. The blood bubbling out of the gash in the side of his patient's ribcage stopped. That was a good sign. He drew out a third can. He only had one more on him and he prayed that he didn't need it. He bent down and halfway through the process Junkrat started coughing. Roadhog got a mouthful of blood and mucus, which he gagged on slightly before spitting it out and turned his now living partner on his side. He sighed as he pulled his legs out from under him to a more comfortable sitting position and re-affixed his mask. Junkrat coughed and gagged, voiding his lungs of the blood that remained inside of them. It took several minutes before he started to exhaust himself.

“And what did we learn today?” Roadhog asked in an exhausted voice.

“Dyin' hurts,” the other responded in a hoarse voice. “But I already knew that.”

“Don't run ahead of me idiot.”

“Haha, yeah, that's an important one, mate.” Junkrat flopped over onto his back and coughed some more. “I owe ya. Never thought anyone'd try an' save my life.” He weakly punched Roadhog's arm with his stump.

“Well, if you die, I don't get my share.” It sounded cold, Roadhog realized, especially given the humorous tone their working relationship had taken recently. Maybe a bit colder than he meant.

“Right you are, mate. Right you are.” A few more coughs. “I hate to ask for a favor, but I don't think I can walk right now. Can you...?” He left the question hanging and gave the bigger man a suggesting look, making it clear he wanted to be carried.

“Fine,” Roadhog answered, in a tone that made it clear he was rolling his eyes. He hauled himself to his feet and scooped the thin man up and over his shoulder. The one without the spikes.

“Oof, a little bit easier there, mate! Oh, and me arm.”

A swift kick to the dingo's jaw was all that was necessary to deter it enough to not bite him as Roadhog reached for the limb. It was covered in drool, and had a few dents and scratches in it from being used as a toy. He then began the long and weary trek through the dust and viscera covered hospital. It wasn't nearly as bad going down, but it was still bad.

“Jeez, Roadie. Yer really outta shape, aren't ya?” Junkrat giggled.

“I hadn't noticed.” Wheezy.

“Aw, yer still not sore at me are ya, mate? I'm sorry. That better?”

Roadhog growled and dropped his passenger when they got outside. He spun and, for lack of anything better to punch, took his anger out on the building. He turned to deliver a tirade to the other junker, but instead saw Junkrat cowering in front of him, chanting apologies under his breath. It wasn't what he expected, and he quickly realized it wasn't the reaction he wanted. It shook Roadhog out of his anger enough to try to get his frustration into words. He knelt down and put a hand on Junkrat's shoulder, who twitched away from the contact, as though he expected it to hurt.

“Look at me, Junkrat,” he said softly. It obviously didn't come across that way since it only made the other ball up harder. It must have been the way the mask made his voice sound, Roadhog reasoned, and rather begrudgingly took the thing off. He blinked in the bright sun, and tried again. “Look at me,” he repeated. The other twitched slightly at the change in tone, and slowly looked up. A look of surprise passed across his face, then something Roadhog couldn't quite decipher.

“I'm not mad at you. Not really. I'm not used to trying to keep someone alive, is all. You _died_ , and the only reason you're even alive is because my panic reaction actually worked. I was...scared.” He sat back and chewed on that realization for a moment. Fear was not something he had experienced in a long time.

Junkrat, however, seemed to have renewed vigor breathed into him, and he grabbed on to the front of the big man's harness and shook it. Feebly.

“Well, mate, you did your job today! I was the idiot who ran off an' got meself stabbed, an' you reached into the gates of Hell an' dragged me right back out. I'd say yer me guardian angel in me pocket after all that!”

Roadhog pulled a disgusted face at the idea that Junkrat laughed at. Maybe a little bit too giddily, but he was suffering from quite a bit of blood loss.

“I doubt that. I was worried when I was tryin' to bring you back that I was gonna blow your lung right out of your body.”

“Well, good thing it didn't, eh? Now how about we go back in an' get some grub for a celebratory dinner?”

“Or,” Roadhog rebutted, pulling his mask back on and hauling himself up, “you stay out here and get some rest while I raid their stores.”

“Eh, whatever works,” the blond said with a shrug. Roadhog turned to go back inside when he heard his name.

“And Roadie, I am sorry. And...and thanks.”

“Yeah.”

 


End file.
